


Fairy Tale

by notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Ymir's Children [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Gore, Intended cannibalism, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the three hundred years before joining the Guardians, Jack Frost slowly learns about the world around him, and gains something of a family, and a home, on the way.</p>
<p>It's not always easy - Earth is a dangerous place - but in the end, Jack is nowhere near as alone as people think he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own RotG. If I did, I would be out there, working on a new movie... Perhaps one featuring the end of the Golden Age, because that's something I would like to see.

Approx. circa 1720 

They were pathetic, tiny creatures. Fairies. Definitely fairies. They didn't seem to be injured, but the few who could move fluttered aimlessly, and those who couldn't looked to be in pain. Jack was afraid to touch them - green things withered beneath his fingers, and small animals, though friendly, couldn't stand his touch for long. And the fairies were so very small. 

"Hey there," he said quietly, and one of the pitiable creatures, the apparent leader, fluttered in between him and the others, protectively. "It's okay, I don't mean any harm." 

The fairy made a series of odd gestures, which Jack translated to "can't you just leave us to die in peace?" 

"I can't help you?" he asked. She was incredulous and said something that he couldn't make out, her voice like the tinkling of tiny bells. 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," he replied. 

She flounced, and fumed silently for a moment, before striking a sudden pose. Then she gestured for him to bring his face closer, and, warily, he did. The fairy fluttered to his ear, and began attempting to speak to him again. This time, although it was difficult to hear clearly, he did understand. "We need a tree," she told him. "We don't have a tree, so we will die." 

He frowned. There were trees everywhere - they were in the middle of a forest. And the nearby trees didn't _seem_ to be occupied. When he said so, the fairy fluttered from his ear to his nose and hit him. "Ow!" For something so tiny, she packed quite a wallop. "I take it you need a special kind of tree?" 

She nodded and then fluttered back to his ear. "It has to be magic," she said. "We can't live in a tree that doesn't have magic." She was desperate, he could tell, but she was also beginning to sound hopeful. "Can you help us?" she asked. 

After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "I can try," he said, "but you'll have to tell me what you need, exactly." 

* * *

Attempting to steal a full grown tree probably wasn't one of Jack's finer moments, but in the end, he came out of it with more knowledge about trees, plant magic, and dryads than he had even wondered about before. A seedling would be enough, the leader fairy assured him as he planted it. The dryad that had given it to him had had all sorts of warnings about it, but had assured him that he wouldn't harm the sapling accidentally, as it was _his_ now. 

Later, that one tiny tree would become many, and the nine fairies would become something like nine hundred. And somehow, he would find, he actually had a home. Before the grove, he had never really had one, and he hadn't thought he ever would.


	2. The Witch - prt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds himself in a predicament, and he's never going to trust Wil' o Wisps again.

Approx. circa 1760

For spirits, Jack had found, the fog was dangerous. It was bad for humans, too - they had accidents enough at other times, but a thick, cloying fog had a way of making the number of incidents multiply. For humans, the worst kind of fog was at twilight, he had learned, when their eyes would play tricks on them. For spirits... 

At a guess, he would say that the worst time for spirits was in the middle of the night, when the fog was dense. The worst thing about it was that the kinds of spirits who preyed upon other spirits seemed to really like the fog. Some of these were known for preying upon humans as well, such as Wil' o Wisps. Jack wasn't sure what they got out of the deal - they never directly killed their prey. They just led them to something worse, in this particular instance, a witch. 

Jack had seen enough people accused of witchcraft that he generally felt sorry for anyone labeled as a witch, but in this case, he thought that maybe he could understand the human fear of witches. Especially considering his current predicament. 

It turned out, Jack was particularly susceptible to the Wil' o Wisps' brand of charm, and if he got out of this alive, he thought that he just might avoid the fog forever. 

The witch, a common, dumpy looking woman who might have been pretty if she tried a little harder, had tied him up while he was still caught up in the Wisp's charm. There was some sort of spell on the rope, too, and he couldn't seem to call his ice, or the wind, or anything. She had bound his wrists behind his back, and his ankles together, and by the time he had realized what had happened, she had been examining his face in a thoughtful manner. 

"What a pretty little frostling," she murmured, her nails beneath his chin forcing him to look up at her. "I can't say I was expecting something so lovely... Whatever shall I do with you? It would be such a waste to just _eat_ you." She smiled, slow and wicked and cruel. Her other hand stroked his cheek with the backs of her knuckles. "I think I have just the right books," she said. "I can't afford to just _waste_ you." She gave him a light shove and he fell backward, onto his wrists and he hissed in pain. 

The Wil' o Wisp, which hadn't left, flickered slightly, but Jack refused to look at it again. This was, he conceded, if only in his own head, legitimately terrifying. "What do you want?" he asked, not sure if the witch would even answer. 

"I had been hoping for a meal," she said, laughing lightly. "But I'm not one to waste my resources - I'm going to squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of you, and only then, if there's anything left, will I eat you." 

* * *

Jack had squirmed against his bonds for hours before giving up. The witch paid him little mind as she went about perusing the dusty tomes she had mentioned before, and the Wil' o Wisp seemed to have grown bored with waiting. It had left over an hour ago. 

There was very little that was more annoying for Jack than getting ignored when he was making a lot of noise. Even if that was the least of his problems, he just couldn't help but be irked. "Whatcha reading?" he asked, knowing that he probably wouldn't get an answer. 

It turned out that he was right. He squirmed around until he was laying on his side and watched her. "You know, I could really use a snack right now. Is this even real iron? What do you think I am, a fairy? Your candles are ugly. Green makes you look frumpy. Do you eat frogs? I heard that witches eat frogs. Where's your cat? Do you have a cat?" Even after all that, he still didn't get a response. 

He actually found himself dozing by the time she moved again, but all she was doing was snuffing the lamp. He was wide awake though, when she began picking her way across the darkened room, to stop at his cage. "It's too bad," she told him, "that you came so late at night. I have to get some sleep, or I won't be able to keep up appearances. You'll keep just fine, though, won't you?" And then she took a candle and left him alone in the room. 

He rolled back onto his back in the small space he had, pursing his lips. "I doubt this is going to end well," he muttered, and until midmorning, he quietly attempted to work the ropes off of his wrists. It was nearly noon when he started shouting, and he had already gone hoarse by the time the witch came back. By that time, it was growing dark again. 

And the witch ignored him, going back to her dusty books. Once, she even reached into the cage to measure him, much to his discomfort. At that point, she sighed, patted his captive ankle and said, "Well, you're to small for that idea to pan out." Then, she went back to reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, see Jack's daring escape! Also, maybe more of the fairies. Maybe.


	3. The Witch - prt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witch, in conclusion.
> 
> Jack struggles with being unable to do anything, and the Wil-o-Wisp returns with something more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are additional warnings that you think I should include, please let me know (and if I find them reasonable, I will use them).

Magic wasn't an option. Ice refused his bidding, as did the stuffy, stagnate air. If things continued the way they were, the witch was going to get her way, and Jack would probably be dead. He wasn't sure what to do, though. The rope, tight around his wrists, left them itchy and burning, more painful the longer he pulled against it.

As the night passed, the witch mostly left him alone, and at some point the Wil' o Wisp returned, bobbing in the air. He tried not to look at it, but the witch stood and followed it out the door. There was the sound of a young voice outside, but it was cut off with a sickening gurgle, and Jack shuddered. The truth of his situation was beginning to sink in. 

"You were saying that you wanted something to eat, last night, weren't you?" the witch asked, when she came back in. Behind her, she dragged a body, just a little smaller than him. A bedraggled, once white bonnet was all he needed to recognize her - it was a young girl from a nearby village, one that he had played with only a few days ago. "It'll take all morning to prepare, but I'm having roast this coming evening." 

His stomach clenched, horrified, and the girl was shoved into the cage with him. She was still alive he saw, with some relief. Not enough, though. The child's danger was far more immediate than his own. With his foot, he reached out to poke her, but... It wasn't exactly a surprise when instead of touching her, his foot went right through the girl's shoulder, but it still sent the usual thrill of discontent through him. "Let her go," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. 

"I think not," the witch replied. "Tell me, little wight, do you ever speak with others of your kind?" Other spirits? He was indignant. Of course he talked to other spirits! He was even friends with an entire colony (a very, very small colony) of fairies! When he said as much, she shook her head, and, gazing at him intently. "Other winter spirits, boy," she clarified. 

His mouth opened, again indignant, and then he paused, his mouth clicking closed. In the fifty or so years since he had awoken in the lake, he had _seen_ plenty of other winter spirits, but... they had never acknowledged him, not even with a nod, or... His lips thinned, and he shook his head silently. Her glee at his reaction was unexpected. 

"Ooh, what a fine catch you are," she giggled and flounced across the room, back to her books. For a moment, he thought that she was going to sit down and start reading again, but she just marked her page and slammed the book shut. "But this can wait. I should ready the oven." 

Then she was back out the door, leaving Jack alone with the unconscious girl. Jack tried again to poke her into consciousness and sighed when that failed. With his ankles tied together, and his hands tied behind him, his range of motion was shit. He kicked at the cage's bars anyway. The girl didn't so much as stir. 

Outside, the witch chopped wood, and the telltale echo of the striking ax rang in Jack's ears. Struggling against the ropes would be even more useless than it had been last night and throughout the day. If his wrists weren't bleeding, he would eat his staff. 

* * *

She had cleared off an altar, dragging it to the center of the room. As Jack watched, she took a bat - small and struggling - from another cage, and cut its tiny head off. He held in a whimper as she used its blood to do _something_ on the altar. She hummed under her breath as she worked, occasionally glancing up at Jack with a nasty, sly grin. 

She could tell how much this was upsetting him, no matter how he tried not to let it show. What was even worse was the rising tingle in the air. It was... It was black. Dark. He coughed as it scraped at his throat and the air was constricting around him. 

He jerked when the witch suddenly threw the door of his cage open, but didn't react quickly enough when she dragged the still unconscious child out and slammed the door shut again. The girl was dragged the short distance to the altar, and before Jack even had a chance to realize what the witch was going to do, thick red was already dripping down his face from a gaping wound in the child's pale throat. 

He couldn't breath, couldn't even process what had just happened, so he just sat there, mouth agape. When the first inklings of rage trickled into his conscious mind, his mouth still hung open. 

Then the trembling started. The little voice that had been telling him that he couldn't break free no matter how hard he tried stopped, and instead insisted, _Do it._

His conscious mind simply stepped back, and then, all he saw was white. 

* * *

When Jack came back to himself, his staff was in his hand and he was far above a desolate landscape, fallen trees ringing him in a miles wide blast radius of frozen white. The land below him wasn't America, which is where he _had_ been before. It was... Siberia? 

His breath shuddered out of him in a sob. That girl. That girl was still... He gasped, tears running freely down his face. 

"Wind," he gasped, "take me home..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am asknotbug on tumblr.  
> For those who would like to talk to me on tumblr, this is where I will be posting anything to do with the story, and if you'd like to ask the characters any questions, I do accept anonymous asks. :)


	4. Interlude - After the Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another character appears, and Jack, while dealing with some of the emotional aftereffects of his ordeal, realizes something important.

In an old library, in Britain, a middle aged man suddenly convulsed in his chair, gasping. Cuts appeared on his face, and his shirt was stained from beneath with blooms of scarlet. He took long breaths, waiting, and slowly the cuts healed into invisibility, leaving only traces of blood behind. "Oh, sister," he sighed, once he caught his breath. "Whatever have you gotten yourself involved in this time?" 

* * *

Evening had come again by the time Jack slumped in the branches of one of the protected trees in his grove. His body ached, but his heart ache was far worse. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and he hardly noticed the blood he smeared across his face when he tried to wipe away his tears. The girl's blood was preserved in frozen drops and smears, but from his tortured wrists, Jack's still flowed sluggishly. 

He could hardly believe that he hadn't been able to do something while the girl was still alive. Even though he had never learned her name, he knew that her slack face was going to haunt him for years to come. 

One of the fairies alighted on the branch next to him, and Jack ended up shoving his face into the crook of his elbow. He didn't think he could handle the fairies just now. It shouldn't have surprised him when another one landed on his head, and soon, they covered him and the branch, with the leader leaning into his ear. 

He knew that she was the leader precisely because she leaned into his ear. "We were worried," she said, and like little bells, the other fairies echoed her in a chorus of "worried, worried, so worried." The fairies weren't the same as they had been, forty years ago, when he had first helped them. The original batch was long dead, but somehow, as though through some ancestral memory, they remembered what he had done for them. The ones that lived in his grove now were all ice and light - soft, cool light, rather like that of the moon - and if he didn't know better, he would think that his name was interchangeable with "God", as far as they were concerned. "Jack..." 

He snuffled, pressing his face further into his elbow. His shirt was ruined now, stained with blood, and his cloak and mantle were gone. Jack sighed, "What do you want?" He was well aware of how petulant he sounded, and it wasn't a good example for the fairies, who were really impressionable. 

Something smooth, nearly half the size of one of the fairies, was pressed against his hand, and he uncovered his eyes enough to look at it. A dog whistle, they were trying to give him a dog whistle on a leather cord. What did they expect him to do with a dog whistle? "Call us," said the lead fairy. Her voice, for being so tiny, was stern. "When you're in trouble, call us. We will help you. And now, we don't have to be worried." 

His hand clenched around it - he was stunned. He hadn't even been aware that they were capable of thinking so far ahead, much less of pooling their resources and magic (now that he tried, he could feel the magic in it) to make such a thing. Suddenly feeling shy, he shoved his face back into his arm and mumbled, "Thank you." 

His little friends, his only friends - he fought down the sob that tried to escape this time - they made him something and... It was so nice, knowing that someone cared. For a long time, he had been sure that no one did. But the fairies did. They lived such short, fractious lives, but they cared. And knowing that... 

It was stupid, being so ashamed of crying.


	5. Salamander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's brought something back to the grove, and someone isn't happy about it.

Approx. circa 1780

Jack returned to the grove, landing with as much care as the wind allowed, and immediately started looking for a sheltered nook for his current burden. At the end of his crook, steaming in the cold air - or perhaps that was smoke coming out from under the lid? - hung a brass pot that hissed occasionally. It sounded like words, but Jack was too busy to acknowledge it just now. 

Instead, he sought out the faun's cooking place. "M-meee-mark? Megan? Hello?" The faun was new to the grove, and Jack didn't quite have the little fellow's name down yet. He knew it began with an "m", but... "Marcus? Magnus? Micky? Michael? Mimi, mammy, mum mumble..?" 

"Martin," piped up a small voice, and when Jack turned, he nearly clocked the faun with the pot. 

"Careful," he said. "It's hot. Maaartin... Could you help me out a bit? I've got a live salamander, and I don't know where to put it." The faun gave him an incredulous look. "Hey, it was dying - it might still be dying - and I couldn't just leave it like that." 

Martin sighed explosively. "And it's in the pot?" he asked, carefully taking the wire and ceramic handle in hand and unhooking it from Jack's staff. He handled it with ginger care, and took it to the area that he had made somewhat livable by modern standards. Over the year that the faun had been in Jack's grove, he had done a lot of work, and what had once been two large rocks was now the walls of a rudimentary kitchen. It was warmer than Jack had expected, and he slowed down before coming near the fire. "Your bleeding heart is going to get you killed," Martin told him, setting the pot in the fire. 

The sibilant hiss from within the pot became a happy sound. "I don't think it'll hurt me," Jack replied. He was getting pretty good at recognizing things that would hurt him. A weak, dying salamander runt was not one of those things. Besides, it couldn't hurt to have something like that grateful to him, now could it? "Do you have a stove?" he asked, looking around. The little kitchen didn't even have a roof, but Jack could fix that, given a little time. 

Martin rolled his eyes and took the pot over to the other side of the kitchen, where there _was_ a stove made from the broken stones that had come away from the large rocks in the faun's work to smooth them out. 

"I mean, if you think about it, you'll always have a fire tender." If he had to give Martin reasons to accept the creature, then that's what Jack would do. 

"You are aware that this is your place, right? I'm living here because the dryads asked you to let me?" The dryads had, Jack remembered. The faun had been in some sort of trouble, and one of the dryads - with evergreen hair and dark, bark-like skin - had asked if the faun could stay. It wasn't like Jack would say no. "It's not like I have any say in what you do. You already do a lot for us." 

"Of course you have say," Jack replied. "It may not always make much difference, but I'll listen to you." Even if they didn't have a good point, he would still _listen_. "Anyway, it's not like I could leave it out in the snow like that. It was definitely dying." 

"And it's thinking like that that's going to get you killed... And then where would we be? There aren't many of us, Jack, but we're obligated to you, and if something happened to you, we'd be worse off..." Martin was serious, but gave up on seeing Jack's unconcerned expression. 

"I'm learning," Jack replied, mostly so that it wouldn't seem like he was dismissing the faun's worries out of hand. "I can read now," the fairies had taught him, "and you know how easy it is to get to books when no one can see you?" He paid mind when he came upon people talking, too. Anything about monsters, dangers that could affect him, or worse, harm children, he paid special attention to. He wasn't very good at reading, but he figured that that was something that would improve over time. 

"I'm not so sure that reading will help with things like this," said Martin, sighing and dumping the pot into the stove. The salamander, small and floppy, and surprisingly defenseless, was already rolling among the coals happily by the time the oven door was shut. "But if it makes you happy, all I'll do is warn you that I don't think it's safe..." 

"And warn me, and warn me," Jack echoed, taking to air. "Warn me all the time, Megan," he said, and Martin interrupted him with an indignant "Martin!" Jack laughed. "Keep warning me, and then you'll be first in line to say 'I told you so'!"


	6. Cervitaurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adult humans are jerks, as far as Jack's concerned.

Approx. circa 1790

Humans were everywhere, it seemed. These particular men were large and crass, and making quite a bit of noise. Jack heard them long before he saw them. In the Appalachians, the sound not only carried, but could bring deadly consequences. "At this rate, they're going to cause an avalanche," he mused, wondering what it was that had them so worked up, anyway. 

It shouldn't have surprised him, when he saw what they were doing. Humans and spirits, and even fae, as Jack had found, were all equal parts cruel and kind, but cruelty was far the more visibly prevalent of the two. He couldn't tell if it was a bear trap on the doe's leg, or not, but the snow around her feet was stained red, and the men were trying to get past another doe that kicked at them every time they drew near the trapped one. 

Jack had seen centaurs before, but he hadn't been aware that they came in varieties other than "horse". That distracted him long enough that he had to kick himself, because he couldn't just let whatever was happening happen. He tumbled down off of the wind and landed near them. The men were talking, now, attempting to sooth the does, and doing a poor job of it. "You'll be comfortable," one said. "There'll be lots of food, and they'll take care of your friend's foot..." And the free doe lunged at the man speaking; with a flash of hooves, his face was bleeding, and he cursed. 

One of the other men said, "We should just knock them out. Let them wake up in a cage..." Having heard enough, Jack tuned out the rest, with that feeling of white rage boiling up inside of him. Human adults pissed him off. Children were great, children were wonderful, but at some point, their innocence was lost, and they turned into such horrible creatures, only concerned with their own gain. 

He would protect the does, and bring down that very avalanche he had been thinking of. The snow, as ever, obeyed his every whim, and when he yelled, it crashed down the mountain, curving delicately around the deer maidens and sweeping the men away. He wouldn't think of those men again, other than to hope he had killed them. 

It took a while for his vision to clear, and when it did, he saw the two does, still trembling in the middle of the damage he had wrought. He approached cautiously, not wanting to upset them further. "I just want to get you free," he said, and was treated to a vicious glare by the trapped doe. "May I come closer?" 

"Why would you want to help me?" she asked, distrustfully, and the free doe echoed her with a plaintive "Help me?" 

His mouth twisted, and he said, "Because this isn't alright." Taking the second doe's words as an invitation, he stepped close and pushed the snow away from the trap. It _was_ a bear trap. He hadn't worked one before, but he had seen it done plenty of times, so he jammed his fingers in the right places and pried it open. Her leg was broken, and the flesh was torn terribly, but, on the bright side, it wasn't severed. "I don't think I can do anything else but..." 

Didn't Megan - no, Martin - know a bit about healing? It might take a while to get them to the grove, but... No, it would be faster to bring Martin to them. 

"Is there a place nearby that you can rest?" he asked, and was encouraged when the injured doe nodded brusquely. "Can you get there on your own?" He would carry her, if he could... He wasn't sure if he could. However, he could make a sled. "Actually, just wait a moment." It wasn't something that he normally did, but it turned out to be pretty easy. Loading her onto it, and padding the ice with snow, so that she could have some comfort, was a little less easy, but once she was on it, he could get it moving. They directed him to a lovely little grotto that was both close and exactly what he had had in mind. 

Getting Martin to come along wasn't all that hard. All he had to do was say the faun's name right a few times, and Martin was grabbing what he would need and following him. To amuse himself while waiting to see the outcome of the situation, he found and set off every single trap in the area. The hunters wouldn't be returning, and Jack didn't like the idea of an animal being trapped and injured, without even the prospect of a quick death coming around. It was too bad that he didn't have any use for the traps, even the metal that they were made of, or else he wouldn't just leave them. 

He was surprised out of his musings by Martin's irritated voice. "What are you still doing here, you daft draft?" 

"What do you think?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "I wanted to know if she'll be alright." 

"If she has a place to rest, then ye..." 

"Good," Jack interrupted, grinning. "Tell them that they can stay at the grove, if they want, until she's recovered, or actually, they can just stay there if they want." Satisfied that things were taken care of, he let the wind pluck him off of the ground. "See you later!" 

Later turned out to be over a week later, and just like Jack predicted, the two does had accepted his offer. While the one was spending much of her time sitting, and was beginning to grow a little plump, the uninjured doe was working with Martin (and the dryads) to make the grove more livable. That was probably important, as it was _his_ place, but as he enjoyed having company when he returned, he didn't actually mind. 

Some seventy years after he planted that first tree, the grove was starting to look like a community. Far more than not minding, he found that it mostly just made him happy. Other than the fairies, there were the two dryads, Martin, the does and the salamander (technically, himself as well)... 

Alright, so community might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it was getting there - very, very slowly. It would be fun to try and make the tiny community grow. That was what was on his mind when he left again.


	7. Spirits of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glance through of the many years between the beginning and present, and what it means to be a winter spirit. And in the end, Jack still doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I felt like I had to bring in Jökul. I had to. Sorry.

Approx. circa 1715 to present

People didn't see him. No one saw him but animals, and Jack didn't know if he could handle it much longer. How long had it been, since he had awaken in the depths of that frozen pond? The only words ever spoken to him were spoken that night, and Jack was beginning to doubt that he was what the moon told him. How could he be a person, how could he have a name, if the only one who could speak it was him? 

It wasn't for years until he saw another spirit, and found out that that's what he was. The first one to talk to him was coal black, the Raven who, it was said, had stolen the sun. She was surprised, for all of a moment, that he hadn't known what she was - and by extension what _he_ was - until she took a closer look at him and said, "Ah, winter spirit." She didn't elaborate, only telling him that it wasn't her place. "When the time comes, you'll understand." 

Even after he met the fairies, and spoke with the dryad regarding a tree, he still didn't understand. The dryad told him, "Winter spirits are different than the rest of us. You'll have to find your own way." 

From time to time, he would see other winter spirits. He wondered if they saw him, because they never acknowledged his presence. He didn't know that there was anything significant about it until the witch. 

In the end, he had deemed it unimportant, until Martin - bless his crotchety soul - saw fit to inform him otherwise. "Winter spirits are different," he said, echoing the dryad's words of years before. "If they're normal, or weak, it isn't a thing, but if they have any power to them..." He smacked his palms together, as though that would illustrate the point he was attempting to make. "Then they have to wait at least fifty years before they're brought into court. I don't know why, because I'm not a winter spirit. They say that the more power you have, the longer you have to wait before the court brings you in, but I wouldn't know anything about that. Just, don't say it isn't important. It's already been more than fifty years, hasn't it? Maybe you don't have much longer to wait." 

Jack put it out of his mind after that. Soon, it seemed, a hundred years had passed, and Martin told him again, "It can't be long now." After two hundred years, the faun speculated that the court had forgotten Jack. "I haven't heard of it taking longer," he said, apologetically. 

It wasn't until a certain Easter Kangaroo confronted him in the small town of Burgess after three hundred years that another winter spirit spoke to him. North was jovial but he didn't _explain_ anything. The whole incident was a fiasco, up until the end, and while he didn't like what happened with Pitch Black after everything (it had seemed too cruel for the good guys to allow, even if he was evil), he was still relieved that it was over. 

That was when the fox spirit had taken to following him around. "I'm the first, I'm the first," it yipped, and danced and mostly just harassed him. He couldn't get away from it, and he was getting sick of it to the point where he was about to turn around and do something terrible - like freeze it to a wall. It didn't even calm down when North pointed out that what it was saying was technically not true. 

"After all," he said, clasping Jack's shoulder firmly, "I'm the first! Ha!" And North then gleefully hooted and hollered, and Jack went and found a high place in which to hide, because he found the behavior strange and ridiculous. Sure, he liked to play, but he often preferred vast reaches where the only thing one could hear for miles was the gentle sounds of nature. 

When the stranger showed up (a full week after Pitch's defeat), he had been sitting in the rafters for a good hour, dreading the bustle down below that never seemed to slow. If it was like this, only a week after Easter, what it be like come Christmas was beyond imagining. 

The stranger was tall, though not quite as tall as North, who greeted him with a loud, cheerful boom of, "Jökul! Is good to see you! What brings you round?" 

"Not but the usual," he said, and his voice was... odd. Like Jack's, only deeper, and with an old accent. "Court business. I could use a cuppa, if you've got... Ah, there. I kent these elves must be good for something." As he took a steaming mug from an elf, Jack scrutinized him. He looked like a man in his mid-to-late twenties, but other than that, and his voice, he looked strangely like Jack himself. The clothes were different, but not something that Jack _wouldn't_ wear, from the wind tattered gray cloak to his bare toes. The cloak fluttered as he paced about and he casually froze one elf that had wandered a little too close with his crook (shaped similarly to Jack's but black beneath the rime with age, rather than the same gray-brown as Jack's) and knocked it over with his toes. 

He and North chatted for a while, before Jökul asked, "Where is that little scrapper anyway? Jack Frost?" And North laughed, pointing up at Jack, who waved down at them. Jökul's grin made Jack even more uncomfortable that the fox's nattering had. "You should come down here, kiddo," he said. "I need to talk to you. Still," he added, in a bemused tone, "yer a right scrawny scrapper, aren't you?" 

Jack snorted, mildly offended. "Like you've got room to talk?" he asked, indicating Jökul's lanky frame with a flick of his wrist. "You're pretty skinny looking from up here." 

"Just surprised, is all," he said, still grinning. "Itty bitty little thing like you taking out Pitch Black... Seems pretty ludicrous, doesn't it?" 

Looks like Jökul was under some misconceptions that needed to be nipped in the bud. "I don't know who told you that," he began, and scowled when Jökul interrupted him. 

"No one needs to tell me; I just know. See, these bozos, no offense," he said, patting North's shoulder, "lost all their power. So, without you, they lost." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Anyhow, that's not why I'm here. You've got an official invitation," he paused to offer a bow, "from the Snow Queen, to a gala, in your honor - these guys can come too, if you'd like. Hey, Bunny," he interrupted himself this time to greet the rabbit. "The important part is, it's required for you to be there. And it's in..." Jökul stopped again, and pulled out what looked like an iPhone. "Two days. That's it." 

"My honor?" Jack asked skeptically. "What. The. Hell. Nope. I don't think so." He dropped out of the rafters and headed for the window... Only to have Jökul catch him around the waist with the crook of his staff. 

"Required," Jökul stated flatly, tugging Jack down. 

When he was within reach, North grabbed him, spun him around, and hugged him. "See, you will not be going alone. I, at least, will go with you. But you are having to go, Jack. As a winter spirit, it is requirement." 

"Besides," said Jökul, "it's been what, three hundred years?" Jack froze. "See, we've been waiting for you for a long time, Jack." 

They were waiting for him? They were waiting for Jack? Why was it, that ever since Bunnymund had approached him, only a little over a week ago, that his life had gotten so... Not complicated. His life had always been delicately balanced between complicated and simple, but... It was as though everything was suddenly turned over on its head, and... Jack was left with nothing but confusion. "They were waiting for me?" he asked numbly. 

"It's been a long time, I suppose," said Jökul. "I wasn't exactly in court for most of it. But yes, we were waiting for you. Perhaps," his grin faded into something mysterious, "for longer than they know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about what's going on? Want to ask questions? Want to ask the characters questions? Come to my blog. :)


	8. Centaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the mid-1800s, Jack meets a centaur in an uncomfortable situation.

Approx. circa 1860

"So," said Jack, lips pursed as he examined what was before him. "I've seen many things, but this is unusual, even for me... A centaur hanging from a tree." Said centaur was hanging from his legs, and the mash up of ropes and sticks that held him there, upside down, was fragile looking and didn't stop the large creature from spinning slightly. "How does this even work?" 

"Can you just..?" 

"I mean, I don't know how heavy a centaur is, but that's just ridiculous," Jack continued, ignoring the centaur's attempt at asking for help. "I would help," he said, "but if I cut the rope, you'd fall on your head..." 

"Can you just get me a..?" 

"Then again, it could be worse. No, I can't imagine it getting much worse. Maybe if there was a pack of wolves..." He looked around, as though the wolves would just materialize if he thought about it hard enough. "I guess you're lucky," he mused. 

"... a knife," finished the centaur, on a gasp. His face was red and sweating, and he was breathing hard. Hanging upside down like that had to be difficult when a guy has two hearts and more blood flowing toward the head than could be healthy. "Of all the luck, you had to be a trickster," the centaur moaned. 

"I don't carry a knife," Jack replied, but he had an idea, and jumped up onto the ropes along with the large, heaving body. He already knew that his weight would be negligible, so he wasn't adversely affecting the situation, even though the centaur was obviously afraid of just that, given how he stilled. "But I can do something, I think. A gradual break would be better anyway. You'll lower more slowly that way." Ice was sharper than steel at times, and it was easy to leave a little nick on each of the ropes. They slowly began to fray, the ones on what was usually the upper half of the centaur's body going slowest. "Yep," Jack crowed, as the hybrid ( _Were centaurs fae or spirits?_ he wondered) creature was turned nearly upright by the unraveling ropes before being dropped into a snowdrift when they finally broke. "You alright?" he asked, still dangling off of one of the snapped ropes. 

"Yeah," the centaur muttered, woozily pulling himself properly upright. "I'm, I'm good. You actually..." The centaur blinked at Jack, finally getting a good look at him. "You helped me?" 

"Couldn't leave you like that," Jack shrugged. Stuff like that was only funny so long as no one got hurt badly. "I mean, if I was stuck like that... Not that I'd ever be stuck like that, but my point remains. If I was trapped, and someone came along and didn't help me, I think that would be pretty awful, so I can't very well do that to someone else, right?" 

The centaur was frowning at him. "You are a trickster, aren't you?" He shook his head. "No, I should be asking what to call you." 

"Jack Frost," he replied, smiling. Jack figured that he had probably gotten all the entertainment he was going to out of the situation, so he saluted the centaur, not bothering to get the creature's name in return, and let the wind drag him away, as it was often wont to do. He hoped he found something even more interesting tomorrow, maybe something that was harder to take care of. "They saaaaay," he sang, as he tumbled off into the darkening evening sky, "in Heaven, the cooks are French, the policemen are British..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the song Jack is singing. It comes from a quote that I'm too bushed to look up the origin of.


	9. Peter Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Pan is a thief, and Jack does not approve.

Circa late 1700s to present

Jack didn't usually spend a lot of time in England. Fog wights were scary, and it was usually too warm and damp for his tastes, anyway. He couldn't say what he was doing in England on that particular day - the day he met Peter Pan. He had never heard of him before that. Jack spent too much time alone, and the only gossip he really cared for, most times, was human gossip. When it came to other spirits, he wanted facts, and that was why the fairies were teaching him to read - but that's a story for another time. 

He didn't realize, at first, that the young boy leaning into the covered pram was another spirit, although his method of dress should have proven as much. But he was alarmed when he pulled the baby right on out of it, behind the backs of a quietly talking couple. 

When the boy took flight, baby cradled carelessly in his arms, Jack chased after. "Hey!" he shouted. "What do you think you're doing?!" The boy stopped and stared at Jack, as though he hadn't expected to be caught in the middle of a kidnapping. 

"It's mine," the boy answered hotly, clutching the tiny form against his chest, and he was holding the baby wrong, Jack knew, because he had observed new parents _drop_ their children because they held them like that. 

As though triggered by Jack's concern, the baby began to slip, and in a fit of panic, Jack just barely managed to create the fluffiest pile of snow for it to land in. "You," he gasped, shaking his head incredulously, eyes wide, "you little shit." 

They ended up fighting, and Jack didn't care that the other spirit looked like another child, he just took his shepherd's crook and swung it like a club. Peter - for that was the boy's name - ended up taking flight, leaving Jack to figure out how to return the baby to its pram. 

That was how he discovered that if a child was sleeping, he could pick it up. But he would forever wonder just how the baby had managed to sleep through all of that. 

* * *

He wasn't sure how old Peter was, or how long he had been pulling such stunts, but he decided that until he found a way to convince the little thief to knock it off, he would pay a bit more attention to England. The next time he caught Peter in the act, he wrangled the younger looking (even younger looking than before, but as a spirit, Jack didn't question that) spirit over his knee and spanked his ass until he cried. Even then, he knew that it wouldn't do any good. He needed something that Peter would both understand, and agree to. 

One time, he asked Peter why he did it, and got the arrogant response of, "They don't deserve to have a baby." 

This time, he looked close to eleven or twelve, and Jack felt far less guilty for kicking his ass when he looked a little older. "You don't have a right to make that decision for them!" 

So they kept fighting. They fought every time they met. Jack scolded Peter, and sometimes the little brat made it away without so much as a bruise. Other times, he ran away sulking. 

Eventually, Jack stumbled upon the _thing_. Peter was nowhere nearby, but Jack knew he had been there. A man consoled his wife, even as they both searched for a missing toddler. She wept openly, her tears turning to tiny, salty ice crystals on her shawl. 

When he found Peter, the boy proved difficult to corral, but after some effort, he managed to hook his staff around Peter's waist. "Oh no, you're coming with me," he said sternly, and dragged him close enough to grab with his hand. "But you're going to tell me where you left the kid, first." 

Peter was surly, but did as he asked. The child toddling along and holding Peter's hand didn't see him, but as long as they both went were Jack wanted, that was okay. He led them back to the worried parents, and the father was, by that point, fighting to keep calm as well. There was a police officer there too, but the man was nearly as distressed as the parents. By the expression on Peter's face, Jack could tell that he didn't understand, yet. The toddler was pulling at Peter's hand though; having seen his parents, he wanted to go to them. 

"You did this," he told Peter, and the boy shook his head, in spite of the tears that were welling up in his eyes. "Let them have their baby back." 

"Mine," Peter mumbled, and Jack swatted him on the head. 

"Do you want them to cry?" he demanded, and pried Peter's fingers away from the toddler's. "That's what happens every time you don't give someone their baby back." 

"But I want," Peter protested, and he only looked about five years old at this point. The child, free from Peter's grip, carefully toddled his way back toward his mother, who cried even harder once she spotted him making his careful way toward her. 

"See? He wanted her, too." 

"But what if they don't?" asked Peter, tears finally streaking down his face. "What if they don't want him?" 

He didn't want to admit it, but Peter had a point. "How about this: Don't take children from their parents. If their parents don't want them, they'll abandon them -" another unfortunate thing that Jack had witnessed in the past "-and then you can take them. But you have to feed them, you know. Kids need food." 

"The birds will feed them," said Peter, beginning to smile again. 

"I'm not so sure of that," Jack replied. "I think they need more than a bird can give them." He sighed. "Until you have a safe place for them, you can't take them. Until you can feed them..." 

"I can't take them?" asked Peter. "Okay. You win." The smile disappeared, replaced with a serious look. "So, I can have them if their parents don't look for them?" He nodded sharply. "I don't like rules, but if there has to be rules... I don't want to make people cry." 

The relief Jack felt at those words nearly took his breath away. "Yeah. If their parents actually want them, they'll look, and they'll cry." 

* * *

Peter was a little more circumspect, even though he occasionally broke the rules, he didn't do it deliberately, and eventually, he and Jack tentatively became friends. He never saw Peter grow any older that thirteen (whereas Jack seemed to be eternally fourteen, go figure), but saw him occasionally as young as four or five years old. The other spirit seemed to regard Jack as something like a big brother - one who was mean sometimes, but had his best interests at heart. 

When they had first met, Peter had worn nothing but leaves, pasted onto his skin with sticky sap, but over time, Jack managed to force him into something approaching real clothes. A tunic and loosely tied on breeches might not look very good, but it was better than nothing. "You'll have to ask someone else about shoes," he told the boy. "As you can see," he wiggled his toes, "I don't do shoes either." 

When Peter met Wendy, he was so proud of making a human friend, that he was beside himself over it. Jack didn't get to meet Wendy Darling until 1905, and she was about to be married. On a whim, when she proved able to see him, he offered for her and Peter, and Peter's lost boys, to come to his grove for Christmas. 

It ended up as tradition. First Wendy, then her daughter Jane, and then Jane's daughter Margaret, and Peter's current lost boys, would spend the days just after Christmas at Jack's grove. 

So, in the end, Peter, and by extension, Wendy, Wendy's daughter and granddaughters, would become part of Jack's extended family. 

This was something that was unknown to the Winter Court, when Jack's ban was finally up. But that's also a story for another time.


	10. Post-ban Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's party introduces him to quite a few other winter spirits, including General Winter, and the Snow Queen and... someone unexpected.

Present

North was supposed to be a good guy. Sure, Jack tried to forget that the man had him shoved into a sack and thrown through a magic portal before they even met, but now that he knew him, kind of, he was supposed to be above doing it again! Although, at least he wasn't dumped out of the sack right into a bizarre ceremony that had confused as much as frightened him. It was possible that North just wasn't aware of how intimidating he was, or how badly someone who was used to the quiet might react to sudden bouts of lasting loud noises. 

Instead, he was dumped out in the sleigh, which was already in motion. Sandy, bless him, probably didn't understand why Jack was so upset either. The little man just saluted him with eggnog and a grin. Bunny patted him roughly on the shoulder, and said, "I can't believe you fell for that again, mate. Congratulations, though. Didn't know you were still on ban, or else I might have said something earlier." 

"You would have told me about it?" Jack asked, skeptically. 

"Oh, no no," said Bunny, shaking his head vigorously. "I mighta respected ya a bit more, though. Three hundred years," he whistled. "Don't know many of them. I mean, never met any before it was up. Last one didn't make it, I hear. He went mad." 

"That's... Comforting," said Jack. "I feel comforted. You are absolutely just as bad as North about these things, aren't you?" 

"Hey!" North protested, from the front. His voice was barely audible over the sounds of the wind and the bells. "Is not like you won't find out more. It is just that our place is not a good place to be explaining from. Jökul will tell you what you are needing to know, I am thinking." 

"Me, as bad as him?" Bunny snorted. "Give me some credit. I'd have at least told you that I couldn't tell you. Explains why North was so excited to have you, though." 

"Huh?" asked Jack, but his voice was cut off by the whoosh of a magic portal. "Why would he..." Then he shrieked as a giant, super fluffy sheep landed in the sleigh, right in front of him, and promptly tipped over _onto_ him. He spent the next several seconds being one) glad that he actually didn't need to breathe, and two) absurdly grateful that he was being smooshed by something relatively light and soft, which, now that he thought about it, felt a little like a giant pillow wrapped up in a wool blanket. 

The sheep bleated, sending a vibration through its body that tickled Jack and made him want to laugh. Light made its way back to him after a minute or so, and he found himself looking at Jökul's face, as the older spirit held the thousand pounds of wool away from Jack. "All clear," he said cheerfully, indicating that Jack could now rescue himself - which he did. "Here I was, thinking I was going to have to come and get you." 

"I got shoved in a sack," Jack replied, sourly. 

"Is fun, no?" shouted North, and Jack was suddenly aware that the sleigh was no longer moving. 

"Oh, we're there?" asked Jack, glancing around. He had to climb up and over the sheep to get a good look at anything, but the palace was... It was... He couldn't say that it was like anything he had ever seen. It was huge, massive, atypically symmetrical, and appeared to be made of solid ice. 

"Lulu made it," said Jökul, with the doting expression of a father showing off his daughter's macaroni art. Jack didn't want to know why it was comparable, because looking at it, it really wasn't. 

"Lulu?" Jack asked, because he supposed he might need to know. 

"Ah..." Jökul pursed his lips. "Yeah. Queen Lucinda to the plebes, of which you are not." 

"I'm not?" He was beginning to hate that skeptical tone in his voice, but it just kept coming out anyway. 

"Three hundred years," Jökul reminded him, as though he might have forgotten, "means you're a royal. So, no, not a plebe. Did you meet Dolly?" he asked, patting the sheep's behind. 

"I think I'm sitting on Dolly," Jack replied, becoming resigned to that skeptical tone. He had a feeling that it was going to be used a lot today. 

"She's a Southern Hemisphere Snowstorm," said Jökul, patting her on the side as she bleated again. "She'll reach full maturity in about a month, and then I'll have to let her go." 

And Jack didn't know how to reply to that, so he let the wind pluck him off of the sheep's back and drop him to the ground. Bunny somehow managed to have a response to that, however, and proudly said, with a toothy grin, "Those Southern Storm Sheep grow mighty big, don't they?" 

"Tropical ones get bigger," Jökul shrugged, "but that's not really my area. If Emily wants them, she can take them. They're all wet, and they bluster. It's not good for the young ones. I mean, if this one was set off early, what do you think would happen? It'll come down on me in the end..." He sighed, "And they try to say I don't do anything." He reached over and tugged on Jack's hoody. "Time to go inside. Mind the doors in front of the Great Hall, 'cause there are drunks who like to throw axes at them." 

* * *

He didn't know why he had been so worried. While he hadn't met the queen yet, Jack was having a grand time. Everyone seemed to want to talk to him, like he was some sort of rare novelty - and he wasn't about to assume that he wasn't. Some were flirty, some were merely friendly, and at one point, he ended up standing next to a very, very tall man, with spiky bluish hair and a teardrop tattoo, who introduced himself first as "Folken," then as "the General," by which Jack assumed that he was General Winter, even without much evidence to support the theory. 

He was offered a huge stein of beer, and even though he didn't really care for the stuff - it didn't even make him drunk, that he noticed - he downed it anyway. All in one long drink, which was apparently pretty impressive. "I don't have to breathe," he explained, finding it odd for having come up twice in the same day if he counted the incident with the sheep. A more flirty guest ended up grinning at him and asking if he had a gag reflex, which Jack thought was a little bit of a strange question to ask. "Noooo," he said, unaware that by his side, the General had gone quiet. 

"You're going to be popu..." The guy never got to finish his sentence, as Folken used an occupied bench to tell him to shut up. In the ensuing brawl, Jack escaped to the rafters, and was surprised to find them thoroughly occupied. 

They were mostly bird spirits, that he could tell, and one of them, a ptarmigan, was laughing at him. "No matter how old you get," she said, shaking her snowy white and brown feathers, "he's going to think of you as a little boy. The General is like that. In his mind, nothing changes from when he first meets you. If you be a chick, you're always a chick, even when your feathers are falling out with age." 

"Why would he..?" 

"And if you don't know that, then you've proven you need to be protected," she cooed, still amused. "I have very good hearing, and of course, everyone's paying attention to you tonight. You even look like one of the royal family. All the markers, the eyes," Jack blinked, "the hair," and he raised a hand to it, "and the skin..." He dropped the hand to his face. "And bones like a bird." Here, Jack grew confused. "In fact, you look just like Jökul Frosti! Isn't that strange?" Jack wasn't sure it was strange enough to be commented on, and said so. "But it is! Rumor has it, he's the only one of Ymir's children that even looks like Ymir. Has all the traits. The eyes..." 

"Hair and skin, yeah and bones like a bird?," Jack interrupted, before she could finish. "I mean, I noticed, but it's really that strange?" 

She sat quietly for a moment. "Yeah. None of the royals look that much alike. They all have different mothers, I hear. They get one or two traits from Ymir, and that's it. Usually the skin. Royals have skin as white as snow. But the queen, her hair is _black_. They say Mother Nature is _her_ mother. That's where the hair comes from. Everything else is Ymir, from her blue eyes, down to her delicate toes." 

"Toes?" asked Jack, amused. He had a hard time imagining it, but it sounded like she was saying that the queen did like him, and ran around with no shoes. 

"She has beautiful toes," agreed the bird spirit. "Such beautiful toes..." Before this got any weirder, Jack supposed he should go. Her tone turned flirty, as she turned back to Jack and said, "You have really pretty toes too..." 

"Heheh... My toes have places they've got to be... So, I'll, uh, be seeing you..." Looking for a familiar face, he spotted North, but the big man seemed to be busy with General Winter, so he went toward the next person he spotted, who happened to be Toothiana. 

"Hey, Jack, what a party, huh? I never went to any Winter Court parties, always thought they would be dull, but there's so many things going on, oh, sorry," she said, and let go of his jaw. He was getting used to her habit of sticking her fingers in his mouth, but he hoped that she would learn to rein it in. "Did you see this? Look at all the food! They even have... Oh, but you probably can't eat that. It isn't good once it's gotten cold." 

"I can eat hot things," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I usually choose not to, but..." 

"There you are!" Jökul's loud voice had Jack cringing, even as he was plucked up by the taller spirit. "I've been looking all over! Did you already meet a lot of people? No matter," he continued, happily oblivious to Jack and Tooth's attempts to cut in. "You'll have a chance later. I've located Lulu, so come on, before she moves..!" And he proceeded to drag Jack through the crowd of spirits, Tooth trailing closely behind. 

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Lucinda sounded like a strong, graceful name, so her height didn't surprise him, nor did the wreath of holly that she wore like a crown. She was tall, she was beautiful, and she was wearing dark colored leather and white fur, and her legs were bare from mid-thigh down, just like her feet. As soon as she saw Jack, dragged along by what was, presumably, her brother (if what the bird had said was right), she sent away those who had been crowding her. 

One thing Jack had been expecting was for her to be on some kind of raised dais, or platform, like all the queens he had ever seen or even known of, would be at a party. She smiled at them, and it was a pleasant, sort of mothering look, and Jack was confused. Wasn't the Snow Queen supposed to be cold, and distant? "You've heard stories," she said, with a light laugh. "Most of those stories have been told through the eyes of our enemies, you know. It matters little, however. Come along, your friends will be here shortly." 

* * *

And that's how he ended up in a small, private room at the Snow Queen's palace, surrounded by the other Guardians, with the Snow Queen and Jökul, and sitting directly across from, of all people... 

Pitch Black. 

This was not where he had seen this going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger?


	11. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jökul tries to explain things. He fails only a little.

Present

Pitch Black did _not_ look happy to be there. If anything, he looked even less happy than Jack, and he spent the long, uncomfortable silence staring right at Jack, as though Jack was the very source of all of his current problems. For all Jack knew, he might have been. It was hard to say. 

Bunny was the only one on the Guardian side that didn't seem particularly perturbed by Pitch's presence, even though he was the one who posed the question: "Why is he here?" 

Jökul, who sat on one side of Pitch - with the queen on the other, a though they were preventing him from leaving - opened his mouth but Pitch beat him to the punch, "I'm here to listen to Jökul explain himself for once." Lulu punched him in the thigh, and Pitch pulled back abruptly. "Lulu!" he gasped, his long hands splaying out to protect his leg from another hard hit. "Why are you hitting me? I know you want an explanation just as much as I do!" 

Her lip curled primly, "Yet I'm not rude about it, am I, Grandfather?" 

"Actually," Jökul said, raising a hand, "it's not because you want to hear it, but because its time I said it, and you're one of the people who _should_ hear it..." 

Jack twitched when a hand came down in his hair, and it definitely didn't belong to one of the other Guardians. He recognized the voice it belonged to when the owner spoke, however. It was General Winter. "I suspect you'll be explaining how this one is you." 

Jökul's hand was still in the air. "Eeeehhh... Well... Yes. Basically. Once more you take a complicated subject and bring it down to its simplest possible permutation. Uh... I had this long speech, and I was going to say it, and you ruined it. Uhhh... Any questions?" he asked, grinning nervously. 

While the others let out shocked noises of varying degrees, Folken told Jökul that there was no way he would ever forget the face of the one who maimed him - which, what? Jack hadn't seen any evidence that the general had anything wrong with him... physically, at least. And while this was going on, Jack studied Jökul. Their jaws were almost the same (something that would change with age, he supposed), their eyes were shaped exactly the same, and little tiny things like the way they moved their mouths - all the same. One obvious difference was a small scar, bisecting his chin vertically. 

"So I do get to explain?" asked Jökul, only too happy that everyone was confused. 

"Yeah," Jack said, frowning at him, and everyone quieted down. "If you're me, then how come you're older, one, and two, how did you get into... well, the past? Because that is the biggest conundrum I'm seeing here." 

"So..." Jökul began, only to flinch a moment later. "Ow. Pitch, why'd you kick me?" 

"I'm angry, and I'm not talking to you," Pitch replied, scowling at some spot directly over Jack's hea - oh, Folken. 

Lulu laughed into her hand as Jökul decided to continue. "Basically, similar enough lives up to now-ish, only this asshole," he indicated Pitch, who sat up and started paying more attention, "actually died when we beat him, and, uh, well, he was different from the start, so, yeah. I won't get into that now. When he died, something else happened, which resulted in..." He mumbled under his breath for a moment, finally letting out, nearly silently, "all this time to plan what I was to say, and now I, ugh, blast it." More loudly, he continued, "In how I met this guy," and thumped Pitch on the chest. "That was a long time ago. Like, before the fuzzy elephants, long time ago. The big enemy of my time had been Mother Nature," and Pitch had a look of sudden, stunned realization, "because she hadn't taken well to Pitch's death and suddenly went bonkers. There was an accident, I mean, for me it was an accident, not so much for her, with Father Time, and, pronto, different timeline, ice age..." He stared into space for a long moment, literally twiddling his thumbs, then added, "Some things changed, others stayed the same. There are a few misconceptions in court, however, as to how I'm related to the royal family," he snorted, and Jack got it. 

"So that means you're Ymir," he said, punching his palm. "And... Mother Nature is Pitch Black's daughter? I need to sit down." 

"You are sitting, Jack," said Tooth, patting his shoulder. 

"Oh, okay, I guess that means I don't have far to go..." Jack put his elbows on his knees and scowled thoughtfully. "So, uh... This is a little weird. I don't take it that this is the usual kind of thing that people being taken off of... uh, ban, get told. Also, you said Pitch was here to listen, but, uh, why?" 

"Because it concerns me," said Pitch, scoffing. "It does explain a few things, though." He stood as though about to leave. 

"Going back to the party, Grandfather?" 

"No," he replied, hand lashing out and snagging Jökul's scarf. "Jökul and I are going to have a little chat about what happens to liars." She didn't seem terribly concerned that the Boogyman was dragging her father away. 

Jökul's only concern seemed to be to protest his innocence. "What did I lie about?" he asked, but Pitch didn't respond until they were out if earshot. 

"Well that was exciting," Jack said, standing and stretching. He jumped when his arm bumped into something. "Oh, right. Hi, Folken. I think it's time to head home... I'm bushed..." 

"Come back soon," said Lulu. The sophisticated smile from earlier was trying to come back, but now she mostly just looked confused. He felt bad for her, but mostly, he just wanted to leave. He would be forced to learn more later, and he hoped to put it off as long as he could, so without another word, he waved and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folken is a troll. (Actually, no, he's a dragon, it just hasn't come up yet.)


	12. Then and Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blizzard of '68, and the reason for Bunny's soreness with Jack.

1968 - Easter Sunday

Spring spirits are often fertility spirits. It's a major part of what they do for the world. Easter was about more that that, though, even if Jack never really got why. People would go to church, there would be all this Gospel related stuff being talked about, and Jack found it dreadfully boring. How were the eggs even related to all that, anyway? 

Jack was a trickster spirit, and while he wouldn't learn for a long time just what that meant, the fact remains that tricksters are all about _planning_. The snow wasn't even meant for today. It was meant for sleigh rides and skiing and more over the coming week. This year would be a year to remember. "Are we ready, troops?" he asked, and a tiny fairy, glowing like moonlight, landed on his shoulder. Apparently this was their current leader. 

"Ready!" chimed several hundred bell-like voices. Even the one in his ear sounded no louder than a cat bell. 

"Let it..." He spun in a circle, his staff arched away from his body at a dramatic angle. "...snow!" They squealed loudly, joined by another, louder voice. Jack looked down to see the kid sitting on one of his feet. His furry rump was starting to make Jack's foot disconcertingly warm. "Let's not let Megan... Marvin... your da know I have you, eh?" He stuck his foot out like a ballerina, and arched his leg higher and higher until the kid slid all the way up to his hip. "One of these days," he said, "I'm gonna find out who your mother is." 

The kid grunted and grumbled against his shoulder, and Jack jounced him up and down on his hip and directed the wind and clouds with his staff. "See, this is the magic of winter," he told the young faun. "As soon as morning comes... We'll make sure that the clouds blow away at just the right moment, and _bam_ it's like a view of Heaven." All he got for his effort was a content gurgle, and he looked down to find his paisley shirt in the kid's mouth, slowly being consumed. "And this is why you were on the ground, kiddo." He was getting sick of the pattern anyway. 

* * *

"My eggs! I can't find my eggs!" A gray flash ran through the snow drifts as Jack watched. The Easter Bunny wasn't an intended victim, here, but it seemed like he had been caught up in Jack's art, anyway. 

"I never got that," he told the young faun. "I mean, okay, rabbits hump a lot, so fertility, right? Seems more like virility, to me, but eh, semantics. Eggs, that makes sense too. Chickens laying eggs, new chicks for the spring, _that_ makes sense. A rabbit delivering brightly colored eggs to children? That... That doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Then again, I'm not human, so maybe that's why I don't get it. I'm not a rabbit, either, as you can see. Maybe it takes a certain species to understand." The kid giggled, and they watched as the giant rabbit flew past again, trying frantically to clear away the snow with his feet. "You're about five hours too late," Jack called, unaware that this would start one of the nastiest brawls of his life. 

* * *

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" Jack called, pretty sure that his dreams of domestic bliss would be shattered as soon as Martin saw him. The young faun, Martin's baby, was perfectly fine, but Jack... Jack didn't usually walk with a pronounced limp, and one of his eyes was already swollen shut. He sat down, sent the kid off to go and play, and leaned up against a tree. 

Tara, the more vocal of the two cervitaurs he had found, was the first to spot him, and the first thing she said was, "Oh, Jack, you idiot!" And her shadow, Echo, echoed, "Idiot," in a disappointed tone. In under a minute, Tara had a warm, wet cloth and was dabbing at his face with it. "We were worried, because Marvin was gone," she told him. 

"Who's Marvin?" Jack asked, genuinely confused. For all that he messed up Martin's name all the time, he knew when he was doing it. Marvin sounded like some entirely new creature. 

He received a flat stare from both of the does. "Marvin," said Tara, delicately, "is Martin's son." And Echo added, uselessly, "His son." 

"You learn something new every day," he mused. "I was wondering what his name was." Actually, he hadn't been, but that was what they call a "white lie". "Anyway, Marvin is fine. I told him to go play just now." 

"Was he with you?" Tara asked carefully. "With you?" said Echo. 

"Yeah, but he's fine. Ow!" She had jabbed him with her pointy fingers hidden by the deceptive warm cloth. "I mean it! He just got to see a little drama, is all. I was just showing him how I seed blizzards." 

She looked suspicious. "On Easter Sunday?" 

"Your point? He's okay, I'll be okay, the rabbit will walk off his frozen nuts, and we'll all be happy again." Later Jack would find that no, not everyone was happy again, and leaving Bunny to "walk off his frozen nuts" was probably one of the worst ideas he had ever given in to. 

Jökul would put the animosity off to them being a fertility spirit and a trickster spirit. And while it was true that that affected them strongly, it wasn't nearly as strong as the anger of a fertility spirit being given literal blue balls. 

As it was, Jack would apologize a thousand times, if he thought it would do any good. He had no idea how much frozen balls would hurt, but at the time he hadn't exactly been concerned by that. Perhaps, in the near future, Jack would fully explain to Jökul just what Bunnymund's actual issue was. Until then, he would just continue to grin sheepishly whenever he saw Bunny. Every time, because they were friends now, right?


	13. Learning Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finally gets the ban explained to him.

Present

It would be a lie, to claim that Jack had anything but the vaguest understanding of everything that had happened within the past couple of weeks. He believed in magic - obviously. Hell, he practiced magic, other than his own natural ice and weather manipulating abilities, so he damned well had better _believe_ it was a thing. Time travel? Humans theorized it, so why wouldn't it be something that spirits could manage under the right circumstances? 

It was stranger to wonder what kind of things could have forced him to grow up. Jökul was _old_ and it wasn't just a physical thing. Even the way he and Pitch had been comfortable next to each other confused him. If he was reading the body language right, Jökul had been sitting next to someone that he didn't want to admit was important to him, which just made Jack shake his head and wonder _Why Pitch?_ even if that had little to do with his current concerns. 

The thing with the ban... He couldn't say he understood that, either. It was possible that there were good reasons to essentially shun someone for that long... Which wasn't to say that he had never actually talked to other winter spirits. The one time he did was during the Poverty Year, just after all those volcanoes (most specifically Mount Tambora, in 1815) set off a chain reaction that made summer never come. He had gone out of his way to ask if they needed help reining in the mess and they accepted, only to stop talking to him once it was over with. There _had_ to be a good reason for it, but Jack was just stumped. 

That was what North was for, he supposed. Although, he doubted that all of his lurking was winning him any points with the man. "Jaaack," said North, pushing his glasses down his nose. "I am very busy. I am knowing that you are wanting to talk, but you had best be getting down to it soon, or I am having to send you away." 

"Uhhhh," Jack replied, eloquently. North was at his desk, sorting through hundreds of letters, and Jack wasn't sure if he was surprised or not that North was already getting them. "Well, I was wondering... Do you know why they do the ban?" 

"Is cruel, isn't it?" asked North, smiling gently. "But yes, I am having some idea as to why. You are very bright, Jack. You have so much power, for one so young. Imagine, when you were new, being dragged into a place like that. Confused. Not knowing yourself. You would be molded to someone else's agenda, and then... Your power, everything that is you, would never learn yourself, and should you break under pressure, because there would be much pressure, Jack, believe me, there will be big explosion, many people hurt. Not just you. There are many reasons for the ban. The only reason I have heard not to do it is because it is being cruel. If that is the only thing against it, it will continue. Because winter is rarely kind." 

Jack sat there, blinking at him for several minutes, allowing North's words to sink in. In the meantime, North went back to his letters. "So, uhm, were you under ban, like ever?" 

"Yes, I had short ban. Back then I was fifty year, is equivalent in court to baron, because I had been a sorcerer. Now, I am marquess, as Christmas has grown so big." He paused to stare piercingly at Jack, over his glasses. He shook his finger at him, sternly. "But you, Jack, if Ymir is the Emperor, Lulu is Queen, you are Grand Prince. Is very big thing, to affect the season so strongly. It will not be easy. You will be expected to learn many things." He sighed, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I find I am in need of a break. Why don't we go to the ice room, and you can show me how you work with the ice, yes?" 

* * *

"Jökul is shit at explaining things," Jack said, drawing tiny swirls on the side of a sleigh carved in ice. "I could tell that he was trying, but he is _shit_ at it." 

"Is against his nature. As is 'hard work and deadlines' against your nature. It grates at his very center." North chipped away at the other end of the sculpture, working on his eight tiny reindeer. "It may have been same as yours, once. If he was you, then it may have been fun. But he works very hard, so is not fun anymore. Is _mystery_ , now. He knows much, tells little. _That_ is his nature." He paused to consume several cookies from a nearby platter. 

"So, what's the deal between him and Pitch? They seemed awful close..." He closed his eyes when bits of cookie came spraying right out of North's mouth. "Okay, I take it you didn't notice. They were sitting awful close to each other." Jack wiped off his face. "I guess I'll have to as Jökul that one." 

North looked like he was about to protest, then he sighed and shook his head. "You will learn," he said sadly. "You will learn."


	14. Rumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack thinks there's something between Jökul and Pitch, and Lulu has reasons to be frustrated. And where did all those gifts come from?

Present

"What the hell are you doing?" Jökul sounded exasperated. "It's not going to open itself." When Jack came upon him, he was standing against a wall several feet away from Pitch, who was glaring mercilessly at a door. If Jack didn't know any better (and he didn't, not really), he would say that Pitch was having _fun_ \- although he wouldn't be able to put his finger on why he thought that, as the Boogeyman was _just_ standing there. 

"I'm anticipating," said Pitch. "You, of all people should appreciate that." His stare didn't waver, although he looked, for a moment, like he might be about to open the door. "I haven't been there in nearly six hundred years - allow me to savor the feeling of not knowing what horrors have crept in in my absence, shall we?" 

He sounded so _gleeful_ , like he hoped to find some terrifying horror beyond the closed doors. Some people, Jack decided, weren't worth trying to understand. "Hey, Jökul," he greeted, moving to stand near his older self. Pitch looked like he was about to open the door, so it seemed as good a time as any to pose to Jökul the question that had been on his mind. "So, what's going on between you and Pitch?" He had an instant to catch the incredulous expression on Pitch's face before an avalanche from the other side of the door swept him away. An avalanche of what looked to be gifts. Some even had brightly colored Christmas wrapping, but those were quickly swept under a tide of cloth wrapped parcels. 

"That was not what I was expecting," Jökul commented inanely. What looked like an iPhone was shoved back into wherever it had come from. Jökul's natural inclination was, apparently, to take photos in a crisis. "Your question... Uh, I don't really know that there's anything between us right now. I mean, there was, but things happened. I hear he tried to take over the world again." He shrugged. "I'm not even sure if I'm surprised by that." 

"Uh huh," said Jack. He didn't believe him. "And apparently you're a dirty rotten liar." 

Jökul let out an outraged squawk. "What did I lie about?" 

"Must be pathological if you don't even know you're doing it," he replied. "It's obvious that there's something, so you don't have to lie to me." He cocked his head, and watched as one of Pitch's arms was thrust out of the piles of gifts. "And if you're gonna lie about it, I'll go ask your daughter." And then he turned as if to go. 

"Wait!" Jökul squawked again. "Don't, you don't want to know what Lulu would say. Please, just, trust me on that." Jack made a mental note to ask anyway - after all, he already knew that he needed to talk to her at some point. "There was a thing," he said, warily eying Pitch's arm, which was waving about and looking for purchase. "And then the Dark Ages happened, and we only just started talking again." 

"Uh huh," Jack replied, in as noncommittal of a tone as he could manage. He meandered over to help Pitch, because Jökul didn't look like he was going to do it. He grabbed the flailing hand and pulled, until Pitch was halfway free. "Hey there," he said, grinning. 

"Ask Lulu," Pitch gasped, "I really don't care." The Boogyman went to work extracting the rest of himself from the mess. "Now why would they have done this?" he grumbled quietly. 

"Awww, they missed you," Jökul crooned, and that was creepy enough that Jack decided to leave the two weirdos to it. 

He had bigger fish to fry - though not literally. Those two were probably some of the largest fish on the planet, if Jack put much thought into it. It took all the Guardians to stop Pitch - and on that note, Jack really needed to find out just what Pitch had been going for. His current behavior seemed anomalous to his attempt to - to what? Take over the world? Was that really what he was doing? It had _looked_ almost like a temper tantrum - not that he was a good judge (after three hundred years of watching children playing). 

Anyway, he figured that he ought to find Lulu, wherever she may be. 

* * *

The hallways of the snow palace were lined with mirrors. Actually, there were mirrors everywhere, not just the hallways, but the halls had a particularly abundant number of them. At first, they seemed normal enough. That was before Jack took a moment to look more closely at his reflection. In a normal mirror, his skin was pale, pink in places, with ice crusted and flaking from his chin and cheeks at times, depending on what he had been doing previously. He never _glowed_ in a normal mirror. It was _flattering_ , but... 

In the mirror, from down the hall came a huge, rambling beast. Its head was tapered and scarred, mostly white with tinges of glacial blues, purples and greens. A great set of sparkling white antlers were on top of its head, and its body was long, serpentine, and most of all, huge, as it carefully made its way toward him down the hall. A pair of raven's wings rested on the arch of its spine - far too tiny to be useful. It was a dragon, and an old one. But the creature striding down the actual hall was pointedly _not_ a dragon. 

"I see you've discovered one of the palace defenses," said Folken, pausing next to him. Jack pouted. Folken got a huge, scary dragon for his reflection, and all Jack got was glowy. Folken seemed interested in Jack's reflection, though, and once he finished examining it, he turned back to Jack, and said, "It's different from Jökul's. I cannot quite see how, but... His reflection is disturbing, whereas yours is pleasant." He looked like he was even less sure how to take that than Jack was. 

"Oookay. So what does it mean?" asked Jack. 

"Possibly that Jökul's nature is fundamentally disturbing," Folken replied, shrugging. "And you see my true form as well. It is nigh impossible to hide one's true nature within these walls." 

That was actually pretty cool, Jack decided. "So, you're a dragon?" Folken just nodded in response. "Huh. Hey, do you think it would be rude if I just went to wherever the queen's at to talk to her? I haven't figured out the layout of this place yet, but as soon as I do..." 

"She would probably like that," Folken responded. "Head down this hall, turn right twice, and you should get where you're going." Them he went on his way, his great cloak sweeping behind him. 

Jack went and promptly got lost. 

* * *

It was hours before he finally saw Lulu. He got distracted along the way by a few strange sights - first, an upside-down tree in a room, all by itself, followed by light patterns in the ice of a hallway leading away from his original course. There was an armor display in one room that looked like it was fitted for a griffon, and then he found a long tapestry in another hallway, one that seemed to be telling a story in pictures and... It took a long time to remember what he had originally been doing. 

What was embarrassing was that when he found her, Folken was already at her side, and the general just raised an eyebrow, like he knew that he should have expected this from Jack. "Heeeey," he said, grinning. Perhaps he could find a better time for this? He had no idea what he had even been planning to say to her. Well, there had been a bunch of irrelevant things he wanted to ask, but there had been something important too. 

"Jack," she greeted him with a smile. "I was hoping to talk with you. Come, walk with me. Folken... It has been a while since the south wall has had a proper inspection, hasn't it?" 

"My queen," the general agreed, bowing slightly. There was something odd about that, Jack noted, as Folken turned to leave. The brief exchange covered a lot of territory that Jack just wasn't equipped to understand. 

"You didn't have to send him away," he said. 

"Don't worry," she said with a chuckle. "That wasn't for your comfort. How are you settling in to things? Is there anything you need?" 

"Settling? I don't think so," Jack replied, snorting. "I don't need anything. I've done well enough on my own." He frowned. "I was actually wondering what I'm supposed to be doing." 

"You're supposed to be acclimating. You aren't obligated to do anything that it isn't in your nature to do." She paused and reached over to him, taking his chin in her fingers to tilt his head so that he was looking her in the eye. "At this point, we need to get used to you, and you need to become used to us. It has been quite some time since someone of your... stature, has come out from ban. Most of the court has no idea what to make of you. They'll overcome their shyness soon enough, but you'll have to remember that you are _not obligated_ to take anyone up on their offers. Nor are you obligated to refuse." 

"Offers?" Jack wondered. "What kind of offers?" That sounded hinky. 

"Things that come with rank," she shrugged. "Land, servants, obligations, alliances, and all that rot." 

"I have land," said Jack. He did. He had a nice bit of land, even. The grove had gotten pretty big over the past few centuries. "I have obligations, because I've got people on my land. It's not like I need more, because I don't know what to do with what I have. I mostly just leave them to it. I'm not the kind of person who needs servants. I mean, what would they do all day?" As for alliances, he thought that he had something that counted there, but wasn't entirely certain if he should bring up Peter Pan. 

"You have land, do you?" she asked, with an amused smile. "May I see it?" 

"Sure," he replied, smiling back. "Can you fly?" 

She shook her head. "No, but I can ride." She let out a sharp whistle, and a huge, chunky horse appeared. "Don't worry, he's faster than he looks." 

* * *

Jack knew all the best ways to get to the grove, and he was highly amused that the horse was able to keep up with him. Lulu rode like a little girl - comfortably seated, holding the horse's mane instead of reins - instead of like Jack always assumed a queen should. Queens were supposed to be regal and pompous, but Lulu was... There was something of regality about her, he supposed, and then decided to not focus further on the subject. 

He liked bringing people to the grove. Even if they only stayed a while, there were all sorts of minor fae and spirits that he let take sanctuary there when they needed it. Martin, the dryads and the fairies were some of the longest term residents, and one of the newest was a young bear skinshifter who was always dragging fishes into the kitchen - which had long since gained a roof. She insisted that she was there because they _had_ a kitchen, to which Jack had said, "Fair enough," and then left the subject alone. 

His grove was protected by more than just Jack's frost. Over the years since learning to read, Jack had laid down a few protection spells and the like, and he saw that Lulu noticed them when they passed the first barrier. The horse had as well, and slowed down before reaching the first trees. The dryads, shy towards newcomers, hid in their trees, and one lone fairy, who screamed his name in her tiny tinkling voice when she saw him and charged right at him, ending up smacking down between his eyes. "Ow?" 

Then came the swarm. 

Set off by the single scream, lights lifted from the trees, causing Lulu to gasp in surprise, and swarmed around him. Unable to stop himself, Jack began giggling. The currents that their many wings kicked up _tickled_ , and he was breathless before he knew it. "Okay, okay, calm down! Was I gone too long?" It was a damned good thing that they weighed close to nothing, he mused, as he held his arms up so that they could dig freely through his pockets. One found the candy canes that he had stashed in his hoody pocket for that very purpose, and another found the tooth box - promptly attempting to shove it out. "Hey, hey, hey! That's mine!" he scolded, catching it and shoving it back. 

"Fairies," said Lulu, bemused. "With this many of them... where is their queen?" 

"Queen?" asked Jack. "The leader... I don't think of her as a queen, I mean, she's just the one who usually tells me what's up... She's... Uh...." He blinked for a moment, then, face clearing, whistled sharply. One fairy detached herself from the swarm that was attempting to consume the candy canes whole, and landed on his shoulder. It was a different one than last time, but he thought that he recognized her nonetheless. "Current leader," he said, nodding to his shoulder. Taking the fairy in one hand, he held her out to Lulu. "This is Queen Lucinda. Make sure to tell the others to play nice." 

"They have no queen," Lulu said, but she smiled politely at the fairy, offering a finger, which the fairy took between both hands and attempted to shake it vigorously. "Tell me, Jack: Do you know how fairy queens are made?" 

Struck with a sudden mental image of _himself_ as a fairy - and not liking it one bit - Jack whined. "I don't want to be a queen." 

Lulu blinked at him and sighed. "Don't worry, that isn't how it works. Usually, when a swarm is much smaller than this, they will endure a crisis that will force them all to work as a single unit. The single unit is a conglomeration of all the little fairies, and is often as large as a small child. Do you understand?" 

That was kind of disturbing. "So Tooth is..?" 

"She's a different kind of fairy," Lulu said. 

Weirdly relieved, Jack said, "Oh." He didn't know why he was glad that Toothiana wasn't made up of a few hundred smaller fairies, but he felt what he felt. "Do they eat each other?" 

She laughed. "No, Jack, they merge. But after that, they never separate. The queens can be very dangerous. I don't know what a queen of a swarm this size would be like. Jack... You are aware that this place is... unusual, aren't you?" 

She had to be talking about the grove. "Uhm, is it really?" he asked, genuinely curious. 

"Yes," she said, but didn't elaborate. "Other than the fairies, what else lives here?" 

"Martin," Jack replied. "His kids. The dryads. Tara and Echo. Sally - the salamander who lives in the oven. I mean... We don't exactly have a census. People come and go..." Several fairies whipped a booklet of printer paper in his face. "What the..?" He held it out to look at, and... The current leader fairy told him that they learned counting from "the Count" a while back. "Huh. Apparently we do have a census." The writing was too small for him to decipher without a lot of time and effort, so he just passed it on to Lulu, who was giving him a strange look. 

Eventually she sighed again. "I do wish that Father had warned me about this. After all, he should have known... He usually does know. I..." She made a little frustrated sound in her throat. "He does like to make things difficult." 

Jack wasn't sure if he had done something wrong, so, in a bid to distract her, he asked, "So what's the deal between Jökul and Pitch?" and savored the look of shock he received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - Ghost Town: It isn't only through belief that humans can see spirits. Sometimes, it's fear. Jack doesn't like to think about those times.


	15. Ghost Town - prt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belief isn't the only reason people see spirits, and in this Old West town, there's plenty to fear. The question is, what can Jack do about it?

Mid1800s (the Old West)

One hundred and fifty years is not enough for most spirits to learn one simple fact: Fear is not the same as belief. 

The town was quiet, even for an early winter day. It wasn't too cold for children to be outside, playing, but hardly a soul moved between the buildings, and those few who braved the mild weather didn't tarry. It was blessed strange, Jack thought, walking along the edge of the saloon's false front. He would almost swear that he'd been seen, but that person had retreated quickly indoors, so he really couldn't say for sure. 

There were other spirits in town, and Jack wondered if they were fearlings, because they looked like dark and twisted versions of common animal spirits. He had seen pictures of fearlings in books, though, and these didn't seem quite right. One example looked like it may have been a wolf at one time, twisted into something dark, like someone let out their nightmares on canvas. The creature paced at the front of a home (precious salt was spilled at the doorway, and in the windowsills to ward off evil spirits), and there was crying coming from inside. 

"Demons," Jack muttered. They were demons. And there were at least fifty of these _things_ in clear view. An inky birdlike creature landed next to him, twitching and cawing harshly. That... was once a crow, if he didn't miss his guess. "What in God's name is going on here?" he asked rhetorically, dropping from his perch to the wood slat sidewalk below. 

"Can you tell us?" asked an older man, who stood in the doorway, looking right at him. Just to make sure, Jack looked around, to see if he could be talking to anyone else. "Of course I'm talkin' to you, idjit. Come in, 'fore those inky ba'tards come getcha." 

He eyed the salt barrier dubiously. Jack wasn't sure if he _could_ cross it, but as he wasn't an evil spirit - he leaned more towards purification, he'd found, than anything else - he decided to try. "Huh," he said, passing over it easily, "so, it turns out, I'm not an evil spirit." He had been pretty sure, but it never was a good idea to put stock in something that went unproven. Then again, he never did do much evil, did he? He did crazy, not evil. 

"Well, that's good to know," said the man, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder and steering him toward the counter. "You see them beasts out there? Don't know as you'd know anything about that, but iffen you did, we'd be mighty glad fer your input." 

"I just got here," he replied, shrugging. "I thought they might be fearlings, but I haven't seen any records of confirmed fearling sightings since... uhmm... the fourteenth century. And those books weren't in good shape." 

Another person, a matronly woman in a calico dress stood at the bar, a worried look on her face that matched the other men and women around her. "What is a fearling?" she asked, offering Jack a cup of something steaming. 

He had learned a while back that he could have warm foods, but wasn't sure if he should. "From what I gathered, they were embodiments of fear. I've never actually seen one though." Jack was prepared, though. A few rough encounters with some of the nastier spirits of the world, and that awful, awful witch, and he was sure to find every source of information he could in order to protect himself from future incidents. Along the way, he learned of ways to protect his home, as well, but that had always been superfluous to his original purpose. 

"So you don't know what they are..." The man sighed, and when it became apparent that Jack wasn't going to take the mug, he took it instead. "Don't suppose you'd help this poor town out, wouldja?" 

"I may not know much," said Jack, frowning, "but I've seen quite a bit, and I haven't seen anything like that. So, what I'm getting at is: I don't know how much help I would be." He could see the disappointment in their eyes, so he added on, with a sigh, "But I'll do my best." 

* * *

"What are you?" asked the woman. They were at the door, Jack standing outside, her standing just inside. 

"I'm a spirit," he replied. The fog had rolled in at some point while he had been conversing with others inside. The wolf thing that had been pacing at the door across the street was a huddled mess, and he could barely see it through the dense fog. The crying from inside the house had intensified. 

"What kind of spirit?" she asked, her voice a near whisper, as the wolf thing tried to get up. Its bones looked wrong, even at this distance, even through the haze between them. It looked at Jack, its eyes a blaze of gold, then it fell forward with a sickening squelch. A scream echoed from within the house, and Jack flinched. "Mrs Thomson..." said the woman, and she ran back inside. 

Jack stood up, and walked across the street, trying not to let the thickening fog deepen his apprehension. He _hated_ the fog. The wolf thing looked like it was melting. The outline of its bones was clearly visible through the thick muck surrounding them, like an animal left to decay in the sun. But it was decaying far too quickly, and there were now three voices in the house crying, sobbing, begging for their mama to wake up. "What did I get involved in?" he wonders aloud. 

Above the fog, the moon sparkled nearly full in the darkening sky. On ground level, the fog grew thicker. 

* * *

"Then Margaret Stampington said that her grandpappy was right, and the town's accursed." The little girl had gone on several other subjects, such as her mother's dress, her uncle's invert friend, and the pastor's chickens before telling Jack what she thought was happening. "And I think that they might be right. Have _you_ ever seen a chicken hatch a lizard? It had wings, and Bessie was turned to stone before it got loose." While Jack suspected that the girl had found a genuine basilisk, he doubted that it was the cause of the town's problems. 

"I don't think your lizard is guilty of anything worse than petrifying a few animals," Jack told her. It was easier to deal with the people here if he thought of them as really weak fae. Otherwise, he might find himself overcome, and he wouldn't be much use to anyone like that. "Now what was that about Margaret's grandpa?" 

Another child threw a rock at one of the shadow creatures, and when it slithered away, said, "Her grandpappy thought we's all bein' hunted by monsters in the fog." 

"Huh." Jack moved to a third child's side when she abruptly began to cry, and placed one of his cold hands on her face, where a bruise was beginning to form. "And this?" 

"The monsters make it happen," said the first child. "Margaret's grandpappy _died_ when he killed his monster. We all got one. They follow us in the day, attack us at night. But... We're safe with you, right?" 

"I don't know," he said. That meant that he couldn't kill the creatures. If killing one, or hurting it, affected a person? God damnit, he was confused. "I'll try to protect you." 

* * *

Seven people died that first night. Most of them had taken on their particular monster and won - or lost - either way, neither human nor beast survived. The last couple had died like Mrs Thomson. Suddenly, unexpectedly, and in a lot of unexplainable pain. 

The second night, the moon was brighter, the fog was denser, and Jack searched the town for anything that might be a cause. His ice did little damage to the monsters, he found, but he tried to refrain from using it anyway. People became hypothermic when their monsters were exposed to his powers. 

The third night, the moon was full.


	16. Ghost Town prt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is getting closer to figuring out what is happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of probably 3.

It was the simpleton, the gravedigger, that provided the biggest clue as to what was going on. He was the only person in town who couldn't see Jack, which was very strange. He had always sort of figured that it was simpler people who were more likely to be able to see a spirit. The only spirits the man saw were the shadow beasts, and a small, twisted creature that looked as though it may have been a finch at one time. He cupped it in his hands carefully, hiding its yellowy feathers from any of the other townsfolk, and stuck it into his coat when he was made to to inside.

Slowly, things began to click. The wolf thing that had died at the same time as Mrs Thomson. The little girl's bruised face. Margaret's grandpappy. And the fact that every single person had one. Even the simpleton, whose beast closely resembled its original form. He hoped he wasn't right. If he was right, this town truly was cursed. 

* * *

"But when did it start? Who was the first one to see one?" he asked Mr Ford, who had been only the second human ever to talk to him. If things went along this kind of vein, Jack wasn't all that sure he wanted humans to talk to him. It always seemed to be trouble. 

"Old Man Stampington," Mr Ford replied shortly. "After he died, we stopped fighting them." 

Jack bit his lip, reflecting. "Do you... have any magic, or wards to protect the town? Or, uhm, magic on the... uh, people? Or, uh, spellbooks, or anything like that? I think I might have an idea, and I'm just hoping that I'm wrong, but I do want to help." _Please,_ he hoped, _please let me be wrong._

"Yeah, yeah," said the man. "It's at Reverend Stampington's place. I don't know what yer hopin' for, but you seem like a right sort, so I'll show ya." Jack had just enough time to hope his blanche wasn't noticeable, before Mr Ford paused and looked at him funny. "You alright there? Yer turnin' blue." 

"I'm... fine, never better," Jack prevaricated, forcing a smile. The fact that there even was a spellbook was bad news, as far as he was concerned. It probably meant that someone had done this to the town on purpose. 

* * *

The reverend seemed like a nice enough man. The beast outside his house was closer to its original form than most, and looked like a great horned owl. It must have been beautiful, before this curse had taken a hold of it, Jack mused. "It was passed down in my family for generations," said the reverend, smoothing open a large tome on his dining room table. "Father found this spell, and it has made our town stronger... At least, that was before the curse. The spirits, we were able to see them, and protect ourselves. You are, you are not an evil spirit. I would have known. And that's because of the spell. But something else started happening. Perhaps ten years ago. The result of it is... It is unkind. Father killed a blackened spirit in the form of a grizzly and then he died. It was his madness, I think, that brought this on." 

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?" asked Jack, bemused. He attempted to read the Latin on the page as he added, "I mean, he was your father, right?" 

"As much as I don't care to speak ill of the dead," the reverend sighed, "I'll not speak lies for them." 

That was such a refreshing attitude that Jack caught himself smiling. He wasn't sure yet, but he thought that he might actually like the reverend. "This here," he said, pointing at a phrase that caught his eye. "You are aware of the Indian concept of spirit animals, right?" When both the reverend and Mr Ford nodded, he continued. "This implies that you're strengthening your bonds with them. But this here," he drew his finger down, "doesn't sound right. I'm not really the best at magic, but I know that there's something wrong with the phrasing. It's... It's like someone took a pure concept and _twisted_ it. I get what it's meant to do but... Whoever wrote this was going about it wrong." Whoever they were, Jack hoped he would never meet them. He was reminded, offhand, of the witch, but this didn't really seem like her. 

The reverend looked bothered. "My Latin isn't the best," he admitted. "You seem to read it well, though?" 

"Uhmhmm," Jack agreed. "Languages are funny, especially written ones. Anyway, when you cast it, how do you say it?" He would have cringed, as the man's Latin was that bad, but he had to pay attention. From the sound of it, these people definitely weren't catholic. "Okay, I have advice for you. Don't cast spells in languages that you don't know well enough to be conversant in. Second, learn Latin. Thankfully, you mucked it up in such a way that no one is turning into loup garou. And _those_ are the kind of werewolves you hear stories about. They're just people who were cursed with a similar spell." He thumbed through the book. "Are there any other spells you use?" 

He ended up spending the next several hours with Reverend Stampington (Mr Ford had gone home) going through an appalling number of spellbooks, most of which were eerie at best, and at worst, downright horrifying. At one point, he stopped and asked the reverend, "You are aware, aren't you, that this is dark magic?" 

The man sighed. "I came to that conclusion some time back, but..." He paused for long enough that Jack began to worry. "I tried. Not casting it on a newborn when the parents came to me. They, ah. They killed and ate her, less than a week later. When I asked them why, they couldn't tell me. So I've been using it, the same as before, ever since." 

That was... Wow. It almost sounded like loup garou, only without the shapeshifting. "Yeah, I see why you kept using it," he replied. "What happened to... I mean, are they still alive?" 

"No," said the reverend. "The husband ended up doing the same to his wife, and then he charged his... beast. It had been a wolf, like Mrs Thomson. But his wife, hers was a rabbit." 

"Oh, great," Jack replied. He knew exactly what rabbits did. "How awful. Does that... Does that happen happen often?" 

"Around here, thirty is old." He smiled faintly. "I'm thirty two. I don't expect to live much longer." 

"Well, we better take care of this soon, then," said Jack. "And I might have an idea, but I'm not sure how to go about it. First... Do you think we could catch one?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the 1800s, there was no such thing as pc. I doubt I'll be blasted for it, but I felt that I ought to say something. :)


	17. Ghost Town - prt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's solution isn't necessarily the best solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a little disjointed.

The owl was easy enough to capture, and it watched them stoically through the bars of the cage they trapped it in, its luminous eyes glinting in the lantern light. The reverend was noticeably nervous, and he wrung his hands together, warning Jack, "If, if you kill it, I will die. I don't really want to die but... I have made my peace with God. Please, just, do what you have to do to save my town." He didn't look all that ready, and Jack tried to reassure him.

"I don't think this will kill it," he said. "It just a little harmless magic... Nice magic." If he knew any magic, he knew the magic he was born with best. He cupped a ball of snow in his hands, blew on it, and waited for the magic to settle. Then he gently tossed the snowball straight into the owl's face. 

Its eyes widened impossibly, and its head twisted about as it let out the most confused sounding hoot Jack had ever heard. Some of the unnatural blackness on its feathers faded away, only to come back a second later. The reverend was shivering, as though cold, and he said, "That may have been the strangest thing I have ever felt." 

All in all, the effects were disappointing. With a sigh, he made another, and after breathing on it, flicked it into the reverend's face. To Jack's delight, the owl slowly began to lose the black coloring, and unlike the first time, it was a continuous change, and didn't seem about to reverse. The natural russet orange of the feathers was reasserting itself, but next to Jack, Reverend Stampington oscillated for a moment, side to side. 

"What? What?" he muttered as his eyes fell closed, then he slumped against Jack in a dead faint. 

The owl cooed, sounding worried, and not sure what else to do, Jack reached over and flipped the latch on the cage. It calmly let itself out, giving Jack an expectant look. "Well, did it work?" he asked, and it cooed again. "I can't leave him out here." Jack stood and dragged the man back into the house. It was so bizarre, he thought, doing this for someone after a hundred and fifty years of not being able to even touch humans. "It did work," he said, when the bird followed them inside. It crossed the salt like it wasn't even there, the last of the taint leaving it. This was proof, he thought, that he was a natural at this purification stuff. "Can I make a reaction like that? Big enough for the whole town?" 

He somehow managed to wrestle the unconscious man into bed, and the owl moved to perch protectively over him. The fog was thick, outside, but that didn't mean that Jack couldn't take control of the weather himself, and that's what he decided to do. He would make it snow, and put so much of that happy-making magic into it that it would affect everyone in their houses, and all the spirit animals would change back. 

He looked out on the town, and as soon as he was sure that everyone was indoors for the night, he lifted above the fog, throwing his staff out to call the damp air close. Then he swirled it above his head into thick clouds, pregnant with moisture. 

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. He had to get this part right, so he concentrated, feeling out that core of glittering blue he usually felt deep inside, and let it all out. Perhaps it wasn't quite the same as usual. It was a little less blue, a little more white. But... What was done was done. He couldn't take it back now, not when the snow was already falling in great, fat flakes all around him. "Tomorrow," he muttered. Tomorrow, he would make sure that everyone got a dose of the snow that glittered with magic in the faint, ambient light of the night. 

* * *

The next morning was silent. Not one person stirred, but the spirit beasts did. They already looked more like actual animals, but... no one had come out into the snow. He paced a rooftop, nervously twirling his staff in his hands. When a gust that smelled of charred feathers passed him, ruffling through his hair and clothes, he turned to find a ruddy skinned woman standing behind him. The sharp look in her eyes, as well as the scent gave her away, though he hadn't seen her take a human form before, and he smiled a greeting at her. "Raven," he murmured. 

She smiled back, but it wasn't a particularly happy smile. "You overdid it, Frost." 

His eyebrows hitched together as he frowned at the empty seeming town. "That's what I was beginning to think. How bad did I screw this up?" he asked. 

"Not at all," she replied. "In my terms, you did quite well. You may feel differently, however. Some of them... no, most of them will die." There was that strange, cold feeling again. The one that kind of hurt. "It may help to know that they will be happy for it." 

"Why didn't anyone else do anything?" he asked. She had shown up so quickly, she can't have been unaware of the situation. 

"Their spirit animals would attack us. Most of the spirits of this area are animals of some sort, and even on taking a human form, I was still attacked." She crossed her legs and sat, scooping up a handful of snow to examine as she did so. 

"I could tell," he said, plopping down next to her. 

"I saw that." Now her smile held genuine amusement, and she reached out and ruffled his hair with thick, calloused fingers. "What I do not know, is how you could tell." 

He tapped his nose with one finger and said, "Burnt feathers," and she laughed. "So, since things are returning to normal, you can come here without being attacked?" 

"Yes," she agreed. "Something will still need to be done about the survivors, however. They should not remain here. The land is tainted, and will not return to normal any time soon." 

"The preacher, too. He was, he knows magic, and I don't think he knows how to deal with it." He let a frustrated noise slip out of his throat. "If he lives, I mean, I hope he lives, he was pretty nice, but if he lives, I think... someone needs to teach him something other than what he was getting from those awful books." 

"Books?" she asked, suddenly looking interested. "What books?" 

"It's where the spell that caused this came from. He said that his family had them for a long time, and I think," Jack said, in utter seriousness, "I'm taking them when I leave. But I don't know what todo with them. It's not like I have a library." 

"I do," said Raven, a covetous gleam in her dark eyes. "Would you give them to me?" 

Jack shook his head. "I want to read them first. It's not like I'm tripping over new things wherever I go... Not usually anyway." There was something that might cover both of their interests, he realized. "But... Would you keep them for me?" 

"My library is my books only," she said, shrugging. She was like him, though, and he knew it. He was sure she would come back to that at some point, perhaps with a counter offer. "I would like to see these books." 

In his house, the reverend was still asleep, a peaceful smile on his face, and the owl was fluffed up on her perch. "Here they are," Jack said, quietly. As ridiculous as it was, he didn't want to disturb the man. 

If anything, Raven looked like she was planning to make another go at them. "A trade, perhaps?" she queried. 

"Maybe," was his noncommittal reply. He sat on the table and pulled over one of the books. "It fully depends on what I would get out of it. This is the one with the spell..." Jack flipped through the book until he found the right page and passed it to her. "They cut it down a lot, and god, you should have heard the mispronunciations." He giggled. "He managed to mutilate it in a good way, though. You might have been dealing with loup garou, if it weren't for that mistake." 

Her eyes flicked hungrily over the passages, and Jack shouldn't be surprised that she could read Latin. After all, she was a hell of a lot older than him. "This, this isn't what he was using?" she asked, one eye raising to stare at him. 

"God!" he exclaimed, scrambling backwards for a split second. "Could you get any more creepy?" 

"Yes," she replied slowly, as though talking to a child. 

"Good to know. Don't show me." To be sure not to see anything strange, he picked up another book (a journal) and began skimming it. "And, uh, no. He was using an abbreviation. I don't..." Jack glanced over to where the man was still snoring gently away. "I don't have perfect memory," he said after a moment. "I think you'll have to wait for him. He looks like he's doing okay, doesn't he?" 

She placed the book back on the table and got up, only to walk over to the reverend to examine him. She even pulled up one of his eyelids and looked into the exposed eye. "Yes, he does seem to be doing well." Then she turned to come back. "We have a negotiation to finish." 

* * *

When the reverend woke up, they were still negotiating. So far, Jack had her convinced to find a white magic user to teach the reverend, _and_ to tie up loose ends in the town. He wondered what else he could get out of her, because he wasn't going to let them go that easily. Reverend Stampington tried to insert his (rather muddled) opinion at one point (namely that the books were his), but was shut down over the fact that the books had been a major cause of the problems to begin with, and therefore needed something to be done about them. 

"I... The owl... Who is this?" the reverend asked, and he was introduced to Raven, who explained what had happened. She proposed that as the owl hadn't been as twisted as many of the other spirit animals, that that might be why he was still alive. Which really didn't bode well for most of the town, so it was high time that they check on everyone. 

* * *

"It was peaceful," said the reverend, closing another door. So far they had found six survivors, all of whom were children. Then they saw the gravedigger, sitting outside his home and petting the finch from before. That brought the count up to seven. 

It took five more houses before they grew truly discouraged. They weren't finding anyone else. Jack's earlier cheer completely deserted him, and he felt kind of... floaty. Disconnected. It was better than grief, he supposed, but it didn't feel quite natural. 

Eight survivors of a town of nearly a hundred. Eight survivors. Six of which were children. The reverend wasn't angry, as Jack expected him to be - grieved, certainly, but otherwise he was accepting of the outcome. "Treading God's domain has had worse consequences in the past," he said, when Jack asked him why. "I think we were lucky." 

Raven eventually singled Jack out, and told him that he should leave the rest of it up to her. "It's bad enough that we had a baby frost spirit cleaning up this mess. Take your books and I'll come find you later and tell you what we did." 

Not knowing what else to do, Jack left. 

It was several months before he heard the finishing touches on the tale he had entered. The children had been sent to live as far away from each other as possible, with lesser spirits to watch them and make sure they didn't go down the paths of their parents - which was still a possibility, he found. The reverend stayed in town, with a lady shaman from a local tribe to help clear the foul mystical energy that had accumulated there. The gravedigger remained as well, but Raven didn't explain why. 

It took even longer to make negotiations over the books. Finally, Raven suggested that he have access to her entire library, and that was the point he conceded on. She even said, once she actually got around to reading them that he got the better end of the deal. 

It was funny, how things worked out, though. Over a century later, he reflected on it, watching a snowball fight that he had started. "Jamie Bennett! No fair!" one of the girls yelled, before throwing a snowball of her own. The boy was still giggling madly when the snowball got him in the face. 

It was so strange, that he had a descendent of Reverend Stampington _right here_ , and he couldn't even talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part, Lulu confronts Jökul. :)


	18. Interlude with the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Lucinda takes a moment of time to confront her father about the things he somehow forgot to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain in the ass, and I apologize for the lacking quality - my device kept deleting it for some reason, so I had to write it about ten times. The first version was best, and I'm not too happy with this version... Anyway, at least it's here and over with.

Present time

Finding her father wasn't terribly difficult unless Jökul was intentionally avoiding her. She didn't have her father's touch with the wind, but with a tracking horse, he was easy to find. He was tending his storm sheep off of the coast of Greenland when she found him, allowing them to graze at the frigid waters of the North Atlantic. The horse couldn't stay out on the water, and without forming a glacier and changing too much of the world's climate, neither could she, so she rode close by, garnering his attention, and returned to shore. 

She didn't often leave court, much less to seek him out, and he was visibly worried when he joined her on the jagged rocks at the ocean's edge. "Alright," he asked, moving to find a position in which to sit, "what did I do?" 

Moving quickly, not giving her father a chance to dodge, she slammed her fist into his chest, the fairies' papers clenched between her fingers. "This," she told him, pulling her hand back just far enough to sucker punch him a second time. "Jack Frost. There's a few things you didn't tell me." 

He couldn't answer for a moment, too busy gasping for breath. "Why, Lulu, why?" It wasn't like he actually needed to breathe, but talking required a little more air in his lungs. 

"You're such a baby," she hissed and forced him to take the thick sheaf of papers. "Aren't you the one who taught me that whining doesn't get you anywhere?" 

"True enough." He was still gasping, and he rubbed his chest with his free hand. "What was I supposed to tell you about Jack? I kent nothing too strange there." 

"Look at it," she told him, kicking back and crossing her ankles together. "It's a census. Of Jack's _lands_." The last word she stressed significantly. 

"Jack shouldn't have any lands..." Jökul mused, flicking the papers in and out until they were close enough and far enough away for him to read. Even still, he had to squint; fairies had tiny handwriting. "That's... a lot of fairies... Why did they count the plants?" 

"Is that why it took so many pages?" she asked rhetorically. "Anyway, why didn't you..?" 

"Can't tell what you don't ken." He shrugged. "You aren't going to like this, but... I may have avoided him. I mean... I had to. What good are rules when those in charge break them? And I would have. The ban's important, and I wouldn't have adhered to it. I would have _meddled_ , and maybe no one would have seen, but it would have completely _screwed_ the intentions of the ban. So I didn't know about this." He shook the papers and his head at the same time. For half a moment, he looked so innocent, then he started to grin. Typical. 

"Don't look so pleased with your ignorance," she retorted. 

Jökul shrugged, still grinning. "Eh, what can I say? My center's my center. What else? I've got this feeling that there's something else you aren't saying." 

"Other than that he has the crude makings of a small court? I'm sure there's something else; I'm just not sure what all there is. That place of his, it has spells on it, many of which I would be hard pressed to identify, and... I don't know." She sighed dolefully. "I'm getting the feeling that there will be more revelations as time wears on." 

"Aren't there always?" The silence between them after that was comfortable for a time, and they sat, contemplating the waves. 

"You need to come to court more often." Her voice was quiet, contemplative, but she felt him tense next to her. "We haven't seen much of you for... nearly a thousand years. My siblings and I were starting to wonder." 

When she looked, his face was set, almost angry. She told herself to be patient, because Jökul wasn't going to talk so easily. Patience always had been the greatest key to dealing with her father, and eventually, he cracked. "The Dark Ages weren't good for anyone," was all he said, though. It wasn't anything new, but she had a feeling... 

"Grandfather stopped coming to court around the same time." It was a prod, a suggestion, and, surprisingly enough, it wasn't a vain attempt. 

Jökul's jaw worked, and his eyes were downcast. "Him too?" he wondered. "Why would he have..? I know why I was, but why..?" 

"Did you two have some kind of falling out?" she asked, gentling her voice as well as she could. 

"I don't want to be mean," he said, still staring downward, toward his toes, "but I don't ken I want to be talking about this with you." 

_Great,_ she thought. She had made him uncomfortable, and now he was going to leave. "Why is it always this way?" 

Whether or not he knew the question had been rhetorical, Jökul didn't respond to it. "I suppose I ought to talk to him," he said, probably speaking of Pitch. Probably. "He seemed a bit crazy last time, so... Well, actually, he's calmed down a _lot_ since back then, and it's kind of strange, but... Yeah. I ken it's high time we sorted this shit out." 

_Good grief,_ she realized, _I was right, and they did!_ "Father... I'm sure things will work out... Although, he did seem a bit irritated with you the last time I saw you both. Did he ever tell you what it was he thought you lied about?" 

With a weird, stricken look, Jökul shook his head violently. "No, he didn't, actually. I mean, we talked - several times, and... Ugh. He always finds the creepiest places to live, but I ken I'll have to go there, because... I haven't seen him in _weeks_." 

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?" She was pretty sure that he didn't hear the sarcasm there. Jökul and Pitch had gone centuries avoiding each other in the past, and then all of a sudden they're riding each other's heels for years. _And the cycle continues..._

Jökul was just beginning to stand back up when Jack found them, and the boy looked excited enough that it sparked her father's curiosity for him to stay a bit longer. "I figured it out," he said gleefully, as he stumbled to a halt on the sharp rocks. "I figured out who the count was!" 

Lulu perked up. "Really?" That had been bothering her, ever since the fairies had mentioned him. 

Then, out of his pocket, Jack pulled out a purple doll, made up to look like a modern stereotypical vampire. "It's the Counting Count, from Sesame Street!" He had a broad grin on his face as he handed it to her. "Apparently they were watching it, oh, twenty years ago or so? And that's how long they've been keeping track of everything in the grove and... Hi, Jökul!" 

He really was just as bad as her father, who, with a bemused look on his face, said, "Hey Jack, a piece of random trivia for you: Fairies invented bureaucracy." 

Both Jack and Lulu stared after him as he flew off. Not wanting to think too deeply on fairies and their bureaucracy, Lulu examined the doll Jack had just given her. Sesame Street, was it? It sounded familiar. She hoped that someone had it, somewhere. Was it a book? A movie perhaps? She would know soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next (at least, what I'm planning next): What _had_ Pitch actually been up to in his recent shenanigans? No one seems to know, so Jack decides to ask the boogeyman himself - which probably isn't the brightest idea he's had.


	19. The Other Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunny worries about Pitch's usual MO, and Jack decides to question the Boogeyman about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any rambling WTFness. I have no beta, and am prone to weirdness.

Present

Summer made the snow melt off toward the pole, but the patches that remained gleamed under an ever present sun. North's workshop was in one of the larger patches of snow, which Jack suspected wouldn't fully melt away until the season was nearly over. He didn't quite get why the Guardians had so many meetings, but he didn't mind goofing off in one of North's studies while the others had serious talks around him. 

The one who seemed the most concerned at the moment was Bunny, who kept saying, "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop!" 

North dismissed his concern, pulling up a chair that matched his stature. "You are being paranoid, Bunny. Is done with, I think." 

"I don't think you get how Pitch Black is, North." Bunnymund sighed, scrubbing at his face with one of his large forepaws. "He's a long game planner. You're late to the game, so you don't know! Something like this latest scheme just isn't like him. Not unless it was a buildup for something else! Never in the past was his focus so... so... small! When did he ever focus strictly on children, North? When did he focus on stripping us of belief? It doesn't make sense so..." 

"So, you are with waiting for shoe. I still think you are being paranoid, am I not right, Sandy?" He patted the smallest Guardian on the back, and Sandy cast an irritated glance at him. Stray symbols flashed over his head, and he didn't seem to be agreeing with North. "No, I am just saying that it is paranoid. Pitch is done for the moment, I feel it... in my belly." 

"It's not like I would know," Toothiana said, putting in her two cents, "after all, other than Jack, you're all older than me, but... I think North's right. Pitch seemed different, at the Snow Palace." 

"Pitch has friends in the Winter Court. He used to practically live there," Bunny protested. "Of course he would act differently there. Besides, the palace is a sanctuary." 

"I don't know," she said, her lips thinning thoughtfully. "I think maybe he's changed. I didn't feel any antagonism at all, coming from him, and even in a friend's home, you can't hide something like that." 

North chuckled. "See, being paranoid." 

Jack paused in the middle of freezing a chain of elves together, tongues to bells, and looked over at them. "Have any of you considered asking him? I mean, at worst, he'll lie, and that would be that." 

"Jack," said North, very carefully. "What are you doing to my elves?" 

"Uh..." Jack stuttered, glancing down at his work. He lifted one and watched the tongues of the elves stretch out. "Garland?" 

* * *

It wasn't that Jack thought that Pitch had a valid reason for killing Sandy (albeit temporarily), stealing all of Tooth's teeth, ruining Easter, and possibly nearly killing the other Guardians as well. He just figured that if Pitch wasn't being an asshole, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to just _ask_ what he had been up to. If he had thought things through, he might have asked Tooth, or maybe Sandy, to come along with him when he went to harass the boogeyman, but he hadn't, and now here he was, moving through that dusty room with the cages again. 

Pitch, he decided, smelled weird. Not bad weird, just weird. Paint and chocolate and an old library, which was pleasant in its own way, Jack supposed. The paint smell was just a little astringent, strong enough that it stung his nose when he tried to sort out the scent, but chocolate and books was always good. On that note, Bunny smelled of books and chocolate too, but that was something he would think about at another time. 

Jack tripped over a bucket at one point, spilling out what looked to be broken sculpting tools, before hastily putting them back. He had no idea what they were doing sitting in a bucket next to a door, but he didn't plan on finding out. He was too busy skulking around, looking for Pitch, who... 

Was extraordinarily easy to find, apparently. Pitch stood only a few feet away, clad in what looked like pajama bottoms and a bathrobe (in his signature ash black), watching him bemusedly, a steaming cup of what smelled like coffee in one hand. "What, may I ask, are you doing here?" 

"Looking for you?" Jack asked brightly, dropping the bucket. "I mean, the others were being silly, so I thought, what the hell? I might as well see if you'll answer direct questions, and if you don't want to, no harm no foul, right? You can just tell me to go away, and I'll go away. Do I have to go away?" 

Pitch just blinked at him, long and slow, before sighing and shrugging. "Do what you want. I would be a poor host if I didn't offer tea." He glanced down at the cup in his hand, thoughtful. "Or would you rather coffee? Chocolate perhaps?" 

That was bizarrely civil, Jack mused. "Uh... I mean, if something's already made, sure, but if not, don't worry about it." He was bemused when Pitch just turned and walked back through the door he had apparently come out from. Not wanting to be left behind, he hurriedly followed after him and found himself in a surprisingly normal looking kitchen with a gray slate theme. It was modern, even. 

"There's usually tea on, lately," Pitch told him a moment later, handing him a cup. "It's Jökul's preference..." He paused to yawn. "And it's easier if it's already ready." The yawn had been surprising, and Jack found himself taking in Pitch's current getup more seriously. He even _looked_ sleep-rumpled. 

"Did I wake you up?" Jack asked, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. It hadn't even occurred to him that Pitch might sleep, so this was a little disturbing. 

Pitch shook his head. His expression was almost lazy, and was definitely unconcerned. "Was on my way. You wanted to ask something?" 

Now that Pitch asked, Jack knew that he had a thousand questions for him, but he would settle for just the one. "Bunny says that this thing that you did, recently, was out of character for you? Like, the only way you would do something like that is because it was part of something bigger." 

Sleepy eyes blinked at him, and Pitch made an odd humming sound. "That would usually be the case." He shrugged and pulled out a chair to sit in and indicated that Jack should do the same. "But there's always the exception that proves the rule. I'll admit that this was more of a... Let us call it a 'fit'." 

"You mean, a temper tantrum?" Jack asked, blowing at the tea. He was careful not to freeze it, because he suspected that that would be rude, but he didn't want it too warm to drink. When he finally managed to take a sip, it was strangely floral. 

Pitch took a long moment to reply, and when he did, he sounded amused. "I was meaning to avoid that phrase, though it's accurate enough." 

"I'm pretty sure I didn't say it yet," Jack said, wriggling uncomfortably in his seat, "but this is weirdly civil. Is this a normal thing for you?" 

"I live in a dank pit," Pitch said, rolling his eyes. "Even the sorts of spirits who normally like such places tend to fear me. I rarely get visitors, though I don't mind company. Of course I'm civil. Besides, there are many who find me creepier when I'm civil, so..." He shrugged and offered an odd half-smile. 

Basically, Pitch was saying he was lonely. Loneliness wasn't exactly the same as being alone, Jack knew, because he often had similar problems. "But doesn't Jökul visit?" he asked. After all, Pitch did say he left on the tea, just in case of such a visit. 

"Not really," Pitch admitted. "He's come here twice since I appropriated this place; both times since my recent... fit. I don't think he finds it comfortable." 

Now _that_ was something Jack found creepy. "And you leave the tea on all the time?" he asked. He wondered if Pitch actually drank the stuff, because that certainly wasn't tea he was drinking now. Pitch just nodded in response. "Do you even drink it?" 

"I can't say I'm fond of it. There are some mixes..." He rolled his shoulders again. "Jökul's obsessed, however. He always had this thing about stewed herbs." 

Jack couldn't even say that that made sense. He didn't have any strong feelings about tea, and he couldn't think how he might become obsessed. "Like obsessed obsessed, or just really disturbingly interested?" 

"Oh, I mean obsessed. His not-so-well-known, but still impressive, poison tolerance comes from his early attempts at making tea. It's so bad that it comes as a surprise, in fact, that you aren't the same." Pitch seemed amused about that, though, so Jack decided to let it go, and they sat in strangely companionable silence for a while. 

There was another question plaguing him, Jack realized, but wasn't quite sure how to word it. "Antarctica..." he began, and Pitch interrupted before he could go further. 

"Be glad that you didn't accept my offer then," Pitch told him. His eyes suddenly looked eerie in the dim light of the kitchen, mostly for the way they were focused on him. "I was angry at the time, and you, you represented everything I was angry about. You have no idea how lucky you were not to be naïve enough to fall for that." 

_Way to give me the wiggins,_ Jack thought, skin crawling. He didn't even want to know what Pitch was talking about, because he had a vague idea already. He had been angry at the moon, at Jökul, at the Guardians... He was sure that there was more, but was afraid to ask. He sat quietly for a time, staring into the empty, fragrant mug in his hands, and when he looked up, he saw Pitch nodding, eyes half mast. "Oh, right. You were planning to go to sleep, right?" 

"Don't mind me," Pitch muttered, but his eyes didn't fully open again. 

Jack found himself smiling. Pitch may have _planned_ , in the _past_ to do something horrible and probably creepy to him, but he was pretty sure that it had been a passing thing. He thought that maybe, what Pitch needed, was a steady friend, and then maybe he wouldn't freak out and throw a tantrum and... attack other spirits' power bases. Yeah. On that note, Jack decided that he had better take it upon himself to harass Pitch regularly. For the good of the world. _World,_ he thought, smirking a little, and enjoying the mischievous tingle he always got when planning horrid, horrid things, _you better appreciate me taking one for the team! I'mma make friends with the Boogeyman!_ "Go to bed. I'll come back another time." 

Pitch nodded again, but didn't move. His eyes were closed, and Jack stood and carefully, quietly, gathered the cups, both empty now, and took them to the sink to wash. Before he left, he would be a good guest and tidy up after himself. By the time he was done, the kitchen didn't sparkle, but it was cleaner than it had been in years, and the few stray dishes were neatly put away. And Pitch? Pitch was still sleeping. 

Nearly twenty hours later, Pitch blinked awake, still slouched at the kitchen table, and wondered where the hell his coffee cup had gone. He didn't even notice how clean the kitchen was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Jack, thinking that he made a bad decision, decides to talk to North about it.


	20. Ding, Dong, Ding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack hopes for North to talk him out of a bad idea, and there are pots. Also, Blitzen is creepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out an amusing [set of comics](http://rufftoon.tumblr.com/post/59569560420/myth-hunter-01-the-beginning-of-another-young) by Rufftoon that this chapter alludes to.

Present

"North, I have a really bad idea, and I need you to talk me out of it. Y'see, I went to talk to Pitch the other day, after that last meeting we had, and I thought, 'If this guy had a reliable friend, he wouldn't be out here making an ass of himself.' And that's what I need you to talk me out of. I don't think it's a good idea, hell, I'm pretty sure it's going to be dangerous, so I think you really need to tell me 'No,' in that stern, commanding, Russian way of yours, and..." Jack sighed, and stared right into the beady eyes of one of North's reindeer. It looked like it wanted to eviscerate him. 

He twitched violently when a huge hand landed on his shoulder. When he looked back, he saw North's bearded grin. "Is very commanding, no? Now what is this you are needing me to 'no' you about?" 

Jack's jaw worked as he stared up at the big man. "Uh... I was just practicing what I was going to say. I'm pretty sure it's not ready yet. Is a work... _It is_ a work in progress." He shuffled his staff against his shoulder and smiled hesitantly. North probably was going to freak out, so he decided that maybe he should put this off. 

"Maybe you need practice," said North, reaching out and running his fingers through the reindeer's ruff. It still looked so, so very angry. "I help, no?" He patted the beast roughly, and added, "Blitzen makes good second opinion." 

"That's kinda... eh..." Jack waffled. "Actually, that's a good idea. See," he said, turning to lean against the wooden post that the reindeers stood behind, "I feel as though I've made a bad decision, and ah..." 

"And you are wishing to be told so?" North surmised, still smiling. "It would be now for telling, Jack, you are not on Naughty List now. That is nothing of future, but if you make decision already, it is saying something." He ruffled Jack's hair with his free hand. "You see, it is something I am knowing. You are a good person, and what it is... Well, I will be letting you continue, before I say more." 

"Ahem." He felt his face turning red. Between the hair ruffling and what he was trying to say, he couldn't help it. "T-t-temper tantrum!" 

North squawked out a confused "What?" before Jack managed to continue. 

"Well, Bunny was worried that Pitch was planning something else, but it was a temper tantrum. That's why it was so, uh, out of character for him to do that, the attacking your power bases, and all, and..." Jack stuttered to a stop again, and saw that North was patiently waiting for him to keep going. Cringing, because this was the part that he expected North to get upset over, he continued, "In case you couldn't tell, I went down to talk to him. And uh... I think, if he had a friend, one who didn't let him sulk all the time, because I think he probably sulks _a lot_ , then he wouldn't get up to shit like that. I mean," he stopped again, because North's hand was on his head. 

"I understand." North leaned down to look him in the eye. "I tried to befriend Pitch, once. Asked him to be Guardian, but, he says is not way of the world. I try to understand, and I think, underneath, he means the world no ill. If you think you can do it, Jack, then you must try. Is very noble of you to do so." That was not how Jack had been expecting this to go. "However, I must warn you - Pitch is still a very dark soul. Do not let him drag you down. Do your best to pull him up, is good thing, but do not let whatever darkness haunts him to taint you. Understand?" 

"Uh, yeah," Jack replied. That wasn't too far away from what he had been thinking. His mouth opened again, but he forgot what he was going to say when he spotted something in the loft, directly above North's head. "What is that?" 

North had just turned to look when it came down on him - a bronze cauldron, right into his face. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and came up armed, cursing in Russian. "Aah, is you again!" Jack was already backing away when North roared "Imperial Dong will not win this time!" 

_Imperial Dong_. That very phrase killed every urge Jack had to know. Even as the cauldron _ran away_ , it rang in his mind; even as North gave chase, he stood there, lips twitching on the verge of a hysterical laugh as he watched the large man disappear around a corner, twin sabers at the ready. This tiny piece of curiosity was going to haunt him forever, but Jack refused to satisfy it. 

Up above, yetis began to yell, and while Jack watched, the workshop seemed to suddenly shut down. Gates slammed shut around work areas, doors were shut and locked, and one yeti gathered elves, shoving them, one by one, into one of North's large toy sacks. Jack was highly suspicious that even Pitch hadn't incited this much trouble when he took over the workshop. 

Another cauldron ran past, and Jack blinked. It had been full of liquid, and he knew it wasn't the same as the first. Yep, he didn't want to know what was happening. He was still noping hard when one of the yetis came to him, shoving a small cloth bag of what looked like cookies into his hands, and tried to urge him to leave in its rough, guttural language. He had planned to stay and watch the destruction, as North leapt over tables that hadn't been swiftly enough protected; especially since the yeti was trying to make him leave. But the final straw came when the reindeer, Blitzen, got very close to his face, that same homicidal look in its eye, and wiped its slimy ass tongue all over his face. 

That's when he said, "Fuck it," and left. 

He took the cookies with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have the next one planned. If there's something from the past you want to know about, or even something current that you would like to see explored, drop me a line, either here or on tumblr. My ask box is still open, and I don't mind anons. :)


	21. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch notices something interesting that Jack rarely thinks about and asks for the story behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is midnight inspiration, folks.

Present

Jack couldn't say that Pitch was a typical bachelor type. The few living areas he had seen in the boogeyman's lair were both neatly kept and relatively clean. That didn't mean that there wasn't the occasional mess - no, it didn't mean that at all. It just meant that Jack hadn't actually seen many yet, and the first one he saw was pretty minor. 

Everyone gets lazy with dishes sometimes, and since Pitch was nowhere to be found, Jack set about washing them. Pitch would come back eventually, he supposed. Like the mugs of the first night, the dishes were delicate but functional, and, it turns out, far too easy to break. He found that out when a hot point traced a thin line around the side of his neck. "Fuck, Pitch, really?" he asked, turning to glare up at him. The broken halves of the plate hung loosely in his hands. 

Pitch's hand was still in the air, and he poked Jack's neck again. "Did someone try to garrote you?" he asked, looking vaguely amused. 

One of Jack's own wet and soapy hands dropped its half of the plate and moved to defend his neck. "What?" He had no idea why Pitch would ask that. He didn't have any recent injuries on his neck. 

"The scar," Pitch prompted, fishing the broken plate out of the water only to dump it into a random shadow a moment later. Jack wondered, offhand, if that's how Pitch always disposed of things. "Well?" 

_Scar?_ Jack mused. He didn't remember having a... No, that was wrong. He did have a scar on his neck, didn't he? It was faint, difficult to see most times, and it went most of the way around. "No," he replied. Now that he knew what Pitch was talking about, he actually remembered the incident that caused the scar quite well. With a self depreciating smile, he continued, "I did that to myself." 

If he didn't know better, he would say that Pitch was offended. "I didn't take you for attempting suicide, Frost." 

He took it back. Pitch was definitely offended. He was also misconstruing the situation, so Jack laughed. "No, nothing like that. It was... It was a long time ago, and I was pretty much completely ignorant back then." He turned back to the dishes, noticing that since the one was broken, there were only a couple left. Scrubbing one, he continued talking. "I was trying to trap something, because I didn't know what I was doing. Have you ever dealt with zephyrs?" 

Pitch hummed thoughtfully, but nodded. "I'm sensing a story here... You may as well get on with it." 

Jack laughed brightly. Of course Pitch would want to hear a story like that. Then again, Raven had asked him to repeat it several times, even though she had been there for part of it. "The spirits that I've most consistently found to be evil are fog spirits," he began, letting himself fall into that odd little lull he always felt every time he started telling stories. "I've met vengeance spirits and wrath spirits that were nice people, even a guilt spirit... And then there's you. You could be a good guy. You aren't exactly nice, but..." He shrugged. "You aren't evil, either, I don't think. But fog spirits? I don't know why, but they just always seem to be nasty, evil little fuckers. For some reason, me and fog, we don't get along. And zephyrs? They're just bad news all around." 

* * *

Approx. circa 1800 

He had known better than to go into the fog like that, even so late in the fall. Now, he was going to die, all because he had found the foggy glen so beautiful under the moonlight. 

A strained little cough made its way out from his throat, but little air accompanied it. He couldn't breathe at all, and he could feel panic setting in, narrowing his vision. There was something clawing around inside his chest, and it was laughing at him. 

_don't you want air? don't you want to breathe? precious breath, and you can't have it_

He tried to whimper, but no sound escaped him. Minutes passed, and it hurt, it hurt so bad, and why wasn't his vision fading? The thing in his chest grew quiet, and Jack wondered. It hurt, but that was all. His jaw clenched tight as it gave a push. Something important occurred to him. 

Children played in this glen. He could see signs of their passage, and this thing, whatever it was, could hurt a human so much worse than it could hurt him. 

It pushed again, and he somehow choked it back. He didn't think he could do it for long, but... If he let it go, what would it do? 

Children played here. 

He quickly undid the thin belt holding his pants up and looped it around his neck. If he couldn't trap it forever, he could at least trap it until he figured out what to do, or the lack of air did him in - whichever came first... In his haste and frustration, he tightened the belt too much, and its edges bit painfully into his skin. The thing twisted, pushing at his throat, but couldn't get past the belt. 

It freaked out, and soon Jack was laying on his side, silently sobbing against the pressure in his chest, and clutching his arms around himself as it thrashed about, crying _let me go! let me go!_

After a time, it subsided, and while it didn't exactly stop hurting, it didn't hurt nearly as much. Jack slowly sat up, half expecting it to lash out again, but all it did was push consistently outward. He could handle this. It didn't feel _good_ , but he could handle this level of pain. Even being unable to breathe wasn't as horrible as he had thought at first. As he felt himself relaxing into it, he realized that the pain had turned to a numb pressure, and... It felt strange, like having too much on his stomach - a feeling he only rarely knew - only it was in his chest. 

It turned out that riding the wind without his breath wasn't easy, and finding Raven, the wisest spirit he knew, was even harder without being able to scent her, but once he did - after days of searching, days of feeling his heart beat sluggishly - he tried to convey through gesture that he needed something to write with. 

She obliged, amused at first, at his inability to speak. Concern quickly took over when he wrote an explanation as to what had happened to him. "Was wondering," she said ponderously, "why you were all puffed up like a bantam." She gently touched the edge of the belt that was cutting into the skin of his neck, then trailed her fingers upward, into his hair. "Silly boy, why didn't you just freeze it out?" Her fingers dug deeply into his hair and she began finger combing it, just like she did every time they saw each other. "That should kill it, and then you can just cough it out." 

_Is it really that easy?_ he wondered. On the paper she had given him, he wrote a short query. "Why isn't it already frozen?" 

"You move," she shrugged. "So, you can't be frozen inside." It felt strange, turning the ice on himself, intentionally freezing his insides, and the thing inside his chest started panicking again when he started to do so. "Lay back. You may find it easier if you relax." He had no idea how she knew that, but it turned out that she was right. 

It wasn't long before she cut the belt from around his throat, and helped him onto his side as he started coughing violently. Ice particles fell from his mouth and, wow. He could breathe again, albeit painfully. Actually, he had grown so accustomed to the numb pressure that the relief of it was almost worse than breathing. 

"I'm surprised," Raven told him, as he curled up next to her, gasping harshly. She carded her fingers through his hair - which seemed to be an obsession of hers - and he wondered if this was what having a mother felt like. "I hadn't realized that you came to us through death." 

"Uh?" It was a hoarse, broken sound. His voice wouldn't return properly for days, and it would be even longer for the bloody ligature marks and bruises to fade from his neck. 

"Spirits become in many ways," she told him. "Once, I was a simple animal. I became a simple spirit, and then I made stories. My stories make me into the being I am now known as. Yet others were men and women - but I am much older than they. Others still had death come upon them before they became. That is how you became, I believe." 

"M dehd?" he asked, scowling at the taste of blood on his breath. 

"No," she said, bopping him on the head. "Just because you died doesn't make you dead. It just makes you different. Breathing, for example: You don't have to. I doubt it feels good not to, but it isn't a necessity. Food probably isn't, either. You fall, and you hurt yourself, but you do not die. I'm certain that you can die, however, so please be more careful. The world would be colder without you, I feel." 

And that was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. A pleasant warmth blossomed in his chest, and he smiled as she let him fall asleep right next to her. 

* * *

Present 

"You're an idiot," said Pitch. He had long since gotten a cup of coffee, and was sprawled in one of the kitchen chairs, glaring over the mug's rim at Jack. 

"Well, somehow I've survived, and you've managed to _not_ be the scariest thing that's happened to me." Jack finished drying the last plate and began putting the dishes away. "So," he asked, figuring that he had better deflect Pitch before the boogeyman decided to change Jack's mind on the matter, "has Jökul dropped in lately?" 

"No," Pitch replied. He didn't even seem put out by it. 

Jack glanced over at the warm kettle only a couple feet away. "Oookay." 

"It's no wonder I lost," said Pitch, no longer looking at Jack. "I was up against a self sacrificing _moron_." 

"Hey!" Jack protested. True or not, he wasn't going to just let Pitch throw around accusations like that. 

"You didn't even know that you didn't need to breathe! Therefore, you're an idiot." 

"It's not like I started out knowing what the hell!" Jack rolled his eyes and contemplated stealing Pitch's cup to wash. Or maybe he'd pour himself some tea. It actually smelled good this time. "You can't tell me that you didn't have a learning phase." 

"It was a long time ago," Pitch said dryly. 

"That's only 'cause you're old as balls," Jack laughed. It was true, too. He knew it, deep down, that Pitch was the oldest person he'd ever met. He just wished that he knew what gave him that impression. It certainly wasn't the man's attitude. His continued chortling only served to confuse Pitch. 

"What did you learn from it?" asked Pitch, apparently still interested in the story. 

"What makes you think I learned anything from it?" he asked, amused. That was one of the first times someone actually assumed that he learned a lesson from something. 

Pitch shrugged. "Spirits don't scar easily, and when they do, there's usually an important lesson connected to it - ask Folken some time about his arm. You retained a scar from the incident, therefore, you learned something." 

Jack thought about it for a moment, before saying, quietly, "The wind isn't always my friend." 

To that, Pitch didn't seem to have anything to say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything you'd like to see expounded upon, drop me a line - here, or on my tumblr.


	22. All Hallows' Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets a spirit that is older that they appear, and ends up at a party that wasn't what he was expecting.

Approx. circa 1980

The spirit child looked between ten and twelve years old. They could have been a boy or a girl, Jack couldn't tell, and s/he was wearing a comfortable looking hooded jumpsuit with cat ears and a tail. It looked handmade, with loving care. "Who dresses you, your mom?" Jack asked, and the child's yellow ochre eyes turned toward him, as though they had only just seen him. 

"My dad made it," they said, flatly. 

"Please tell me that he meant it ironically," he replied, patting the kid on the head. The grayish skin, pointed ears and cat eyes were not the strangest thing he had seen on a spirit, and in this case, the features were almost cute. 

"Nope," they said, grinning. "He's kinda a dork. Who are you?" 

"Uhhh... Jack Frost." It was always weird, introducing himself. He half expected for the person he was talking to to have a sudden realization that he was not the kind of person that they wanted to associate with. It wasn't his fault that his reputation preceded him. 

"Sammy Hill," replied the child spirit, still grinning. They suddenly seemed a lot more enthusiastic about his presence. "I've heard of you! Is it true that you knocked down the London Bridge?" 

The London Bridge..? Why does everyone focus on that? It wasn't his fault, not really, but, "It's that fucking song, isn't it?" he asked. If only someone would actually ask him what had happened, instead of just assuming that he had been causing trouble. "Wait... Sammy Hill? Sam Hill, Hell... Samhain!?" Samhain was no child - sure, the body was that of a child, but Samhain was a helluva lot older than him! "Oh, wow. So, uhm. Uh, what, do you prefer Sammy?" 

Sammy grinned and nodded. "You got that pretty quick, even being all distracted. And before you ask, no, I wasn't fucking with you about my dad making this. He makes a new one every year, ever since Halloween became a big thing. It's like, the one holiday he actually likes. He makes the best haunted houses... even if he's gotten weirder lately..." 

* * *

It was that night that Jack discovered something new about being a spirit. With the application of a little face paint, so long as he didn't do anything obviously inhuman, on Halloween, he could walk among the humans and be mistaken for one. Which was great. He was confused, but happy. 

Sammy dragged him around for the earlier part of the night, and when it started getting really dark, the imp (Jack was having a hard time looking at Sammy as anything but the child s/he appeared to be) dragged him to a club. The people in line wore some of the most ridiculous costumes Jack had ever seen... like, was showing that much skin really necessary? 

They ended up in line behind a guy with blue skin, and Jack was certain that that wasn't paint. While Sammy took in the man's costume with confusion, Jack just looked him up and down once. Between the David Bowie tight white pants and the little white cap, Jack knew what he was seeing. "So..." he drawled, trying not to laugh. "Sexy smurf?" 

The guy was positively gleeful. "You're the first one to get it!" Then he gave Jack a closer look. "They probably won't let you in, kid," though he didn't look twice at Sammy. "Your costume isn't exactly... Uh. Doesn't look like it'll work for this kind of party." 

What was wrong with his costume? Jack looked down at himself, and saw the usual, from the tattered buckskin of his pants to the ugly but popular pattern of his shirt. He mostly looked like a normal teenager, he knew. "Seriously? What's wrong with it?" By the time he actually asked, they had already reached the bouncer. 

The bouncer was the one to answer his question. "Go home, kid," he said, although he also didn't look twice at Sammy. "This is a grown up party. All costumes have to be sexy. And you just look like a kid." 

Sexy? How the hell was he supposed to look sexy? Yeah, he'd been dubious about the club to begin with, but now that someone was telling him to leave, he actually wanted to go in. Right next to him, Sammy was grinning still, all pointy teeth as s/he nudged Jack's side. Sexy... Wheels in his head began turning, and he smirked at the bouncer. There was a bare chested wolf-man a few feet away, who's eyes hadn't lifted from Jack's ass for the entire time they had been standing in line. He was the perfect target. 

Putting on a mask of wide-eyed innocence, Jack turned to the guy, and said, "Mister Wolf, do you think there's anything wrong with my costume?" From the way the wolf had been leering at him, he rather doubted it. 

What was visible of the man's face beneath the wolf mask turned a vivid scarlet, and his pants (why was everyone wearing such tight pants anyway?) didn't hide his reaction. Something about his posture suggested that he had bit off more than he could chew. Jack began to smile, batting his eyelashes. 

Sammy nudged him again, and the bouncer looked suitably impressed. "You might want to back off a bit. You're starting to give off predatory vibes." Sammy obviously found it funny, either way, and when the bouncer let them through, he told Jack, "He would have let you pass after a minute, 'cause you're here with me. No one thinks to bar me from Halloween parties." Behind them, the wolf-man was talking to the bouncer about how glad he was to have someone articulate what he had been feeling. 

The smurf guy caught up with them a moment later. "Good god, you have no idea what you looked like right there..." Jack stiffened when a hand came down on his backside, and he abruptly decided that no, that was not allowed. The temperature in their immediate vicinity dropped several degrees. When the hand didn't move, it began dropping faster. "What the... Why is it so cold... all of a... sudde...n..." The hand dropped, and smurf guy began backing away, hands up. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean anything by it!" Before Jack could retort, the crowd surged around them, and he was swallowed up in it. 

"Well, that was interesting," said Sammy, completely unbothered by their having been surrounded by dozens of sweaty, only partly clothed bodies. 

In a certain sense, the next ten minutes were some of the most traumatizing in his life, and he learned more about what a man and a woman, or several men and a sheep, could do together than he had had the opportunity to learn previously. He thought that maybe he had uncovered a new level of Hell. Then there was Sammy, who was about as bothered by what was happening around them as a rock by a blizzard. In fact, he thought that the imp looked like s/he was having fun. While Jack turned continuously, trying to find a safe place to rest his eyes. 

There was Dominatrix Bo Peep and her 69 Sheep on the stage - and now Jack knew what people meant when they giggled over that number. "Oh God," he muttered, eyes still roving. When he spotted the winged back of another partygoer, he thought that he might be okay for a minute. 

His face paint was cold and cracking from how hard he had been blushing, and even worse, the heat of the place was making the outermost layer melt away. Samhain... was watching him. "Having fun?" It was asked with an impish smile, and Jack suddenly realized that Sammy was getting something out of this. 

"You little shit," he marveled. "I've been had. You're fucking with me!" Now that he was aware of it, he was actually kind of amused. The longer he thought about it, the funnier it was. "Seriously, though. Dude. This place is a bit much. I mean..." Looking at it as a prank... "Fuck. Okay, I admit that it was funny. Can I go now?" 

"Nope," said Sammy. "You're stuck until midnight." 

Taken aback, Jack asked, "Why midnight?" 

"It's traditional?" Sammy queried. "Do I need another reason? Also, any reason you've been staring at Mr Feathers over there?" 

"Seemed safer than anything else." 

* * *

It turned out, after several interesting encounters (one of which had actually sent "Mr Feathers" running), that the only safe people to talk to at the party were Sammy, who was more interested in causing trouble than in the sexual acts going on all around them, and this funny looking old dude wearing gold colored spandex. Apparently, he was supposed to be a Golden Globe, and he was writing a book about sex. "The Modern Orgy, is what I think I'll call it," the man said, his mustache quivering. His face was reminiscent of a Scottish Terrier, which made his outfit all the more ludicrous. "Clubs like this are a modern phenomenon," and he went on to explain how they had developed. Jack had been sure, at first, that the old dude was some sort of sexual deviant, but it turned out that nothing could be further from the truth. "People assume that there's something wrong with you, if you don't want sex," he said. "They're silly, if you ask me. I've been just fine, my whole life, without it. Touch is important, but you don't need sex in order to touch someone, do you? There's over a billion people in this world and we can't expect them to all want the same things. That's the core of diversity." 

In spite of being what he called "asexual", he had a broad range of knowledge on the subject of sex, and he managed to teach Jack things he hadn't known without horrifying him, like a view of the club might if he took another look see. While they talked, the guy Sammy had called "Mr Feathers" came up to the bar, and laughed when he saw who Jack was talking to. "Hey, Moby," he said, with a big, toothy smile. His eyes flicked down to Jack, and he seemed amused, in spite if his earlier flight. "I see you found the one ace at the party. Good going. Still writing that book, Moby?" 

"I have... I have notes," said Moby, pushing them in the newcomer's direction and straightening his glasses. "If you'd be so kind?" 

Mr Feathers glanced over the papers and made a few humming noises that Jack only noticed because they left a vibration in the air, in spite of the loud noise of the club around them. "Looking good," he said, handing them back. He turned back to Jack. "Good job freaking me out earlier. That hasn't happened in a long time." He held out his hand, a standard introduction. "People know me as Cupid -" Moby didn't even look surprised - "but my name's actually John Eros... These days, anyway." 

"Samhain and Cupid in the same day does not make sense," he said flatly. 

"What can I say?" the other - another spirit, and why hadn't he guessed that? - said, smirking. "It's a sex party. This place is just great." 

"When midnight rolls around, I am sooo out of here." Jack sighed and leaned against the bar. He was already beyond done with this. 

"Why midnight?" asked Cupid, in an echo of earlier. 

"Don't want to offend the imp. By the way, you know Sammy, right? Boy or girl?" Jack hadn't felt like it was appropriate to ask the kid him/herself. 

"Sammy is Sammy, and Sammy doesn't even know what Sammy is. Also, if you ask Sammy, Sammy will drop his/her pants and _check_ to see what Sammy is at the moment." Cupid picked up a drink that the bartender had aimed at Jack and drank it. "You didn't order that, did you?" 

"Uh, no, and that was a lot of 'Sammy's' there." And no, Jack had no idea what was up with the drink. 

He didn't see much of Samhain for the rest of the night, and he found that when midnight rolled around, he almost regretted leaving the conversation with Moby and Cupid. 

* * *

Samhain was happy. He had made a friend, and now, all he had to do was find Daddy and tell him about it. The soft, padded feet of his costume made running quiet, and for once, he got the jump on his father. "You're working," he accused the tall shadowy figure standing beside the bed of an unlucky child. 

"I suppose I am," Daddy agreed, trailing his fingers through what had, a few moments ago, been golden dream sand. 

Sammy had never seen this stuff before... Or maybe he had. Now that he thought about it, there was always black sand in Daddy's lair, anymore. He had no idea when that had started, though. "But _what_ are you doing?" he asked, coming closer. 

"Punishing children who stay up too late watching scary movies and stuffing their gobs with sugar." Daddy stepped away from the bed, though, and given time, the whimpering child would slip back into a normal sleep. "This one will probably wake up with a stomach ache, too." 

With his usual sense for trouble, Sammy was sure that that was true. "Are you done then?" he demanded, and Daddy gave him a funny look. "The west coast isn't done yet and I want you to take me to a party! Oh, oh, and I just remembered." He laughed when Daddy took his hand and started walking them toward the shadows. "I made a friend tonight! It was like he got me!" 

For a moment, Daddy actually looked amused - something that had become far too rare of late. "Oh, did he? What makes you say that?" 

"I took him to a party, and didn't warn him what kind of party it was." He grinned up at his father as they slipped into the darkness. "He was all freaked out," Sammy stumbled just once, because traveling through the shadows like that was awkward (even if he did it the same way, it was more awkward when Daddy took him, like his feet didn't know where to go), but Daddy was usually too graceful to do the same. "But then, he _got it_." 

"Did he now?" Daddy used an indulgent tone with him. None of his older siblings got that, and sometimes Sammy wondered why that was. Why was he the only one who got treated so well, even, if he was being honest with himself, coddled? 

He put it from his mind quickly, though. His older siblings were _assholes_ , so he didn't care. "Yep. He even thought it was funny, once he calmed down and stopped begging for brain bleach." Sammy liked Jack Frost. He expected that some day, they would be really good friends - and if they were lucky, they would make people regret that they had ever met. 

As they made their move toward the American West Coast, Sammy's grin looked just like that of his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing but the usual. :D
> 
> We just have this world's versions of two Holiday spirits.


	23. Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's all for giving and receiving gifts, but this is getting a little weird.

Present

Normally, Jack greatly enjoyed receiving gifts. He didn't get them that often, for all he had a wide and eclectic range of friends, but when they did give him things, he paid attention. The first and most treasured gift he had ever received (since becoming a spirit - as a human, his family had given him many things) was the fairy whistle. Although he had only ever had to use it once, he always kept it close, because when they gave it to him, he had felt, in a way that he couldn't articulate, _loved_. But ever since coming to the Winter Court, he had been getting an odd variety of gifts - charms, talismans and the like. 

He had no idea what to think of it. He could _smell_ magic on the items, and even though they seemed benign, he didn't keep them on his person. Instead, he put them in a box in his grove, letting the fairies look after them. The plan was, eventually, to ask someone he trusted the opinion of about them, but whenever he visited the palace, the winding, icy halls always kept him distracted for hours if he got away from the main hub of activity. It didn't occur to him to ask North, because although North was part of the court, he seemed aloof to it, as though he didn't quite fit. 

Even Jack fit better, though he wasn't sure why that was. He couldn't even say why he felt that was the case, but if he mentioned the feeling to Jökul, his older self would agree. 

"Folken," he said, popping in right above the general in a way that he doubted would endear him to Folken, "I was wondering..." He trailed off at the look of consternation on Folken's face. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, looking the direction Folken _had_ been. The queen was just down the hall, slowly walking away from them while speaking quietly with a dwarf. He glanced back at Folken, who had already moved in such a way that Jack was no longer in between him and Queen Lulu. "I'll bother someone else, then..." 

Folken didn't protest, just continued watching his queen. Jack wondered about that for all of a moment before dismissing it. He had better things to do. Such as finding someone to explain the thing with the charms and talismans he had been getting once people stopped being weirdly shy of him. The next person he thought of was Jökul, who was doing a good job of avoiding everyone for some reason. Something else Jack didn't want to think too deeply on; although he did it anyway, on his way to the home of the third person on his list. 

That mark on his chin wasn't the only thing wrong with Jökul. The man was energetic to the point of exhausting others, yet... Jack knew a farce when he saw one, and wondered just who Jökul thought he was fooling. Much like himself, Jökul seemed to like the great outdoors best, but unlike Jack, he wanted to be as far from civilization as possible, with the exception of forcing himself into social situations. Jack knew the face of fun, and while Jökul faked it well enough, Jack could tell that the party crowd had been way too much for him. 

Pitch, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely enjoy being around other people, and pretended not to. It was amusing, in a way, seeing them interact, because Jack couldn't imagine any other two people who were as close to complete opposites in everything - from looks, to personalities. 

Unlike Jökul, Jack thought that Pitch took a quiet, but fierce joy in living, and underneath the bland exterior, he had an intense personality. Jökul was more lackadaisical, free flowing in a dangerous sort of way, whereas Pitch's focus was what made him seem dangerous. They were both rather obviously insane to boot. Yet, there was Jack, trying to be friends with one, if not both, of them. 

The lair was quiet when he arrived, but that wasn't unusual. What was strange was that there were little black throw pillows everywhere. "That's a little odd," he said, tripping over one. It had a pattern running along the edge of it in gray, of blocky, running horses. "Let me guess, Nightmares?" 

As if summoned by the word, Jack saw the eyes of one gleaming in the shadows. It shrieked at him and fled. They never did approach him anymore, not once Jack started visiting Pitch, but it always left him with a vague sense of unease, seeing them. 

"Hello to you, too," he called after the retreating form. "Why do they have to be so rude?" 

"They don't like things they aren't allowed to attack," said Pitch from right behind him. 

"Creepy much?" Jack turned to find Pitch wearing a... "Is that a smock?" He laughed when Pitch _curtsied_ at him. "You are so weird. Why do you have a smock?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" Pitch asked, waving a paintbrush at him. "I paint." 

"Really?" He could just imagine the sorts of things Pitch would paint, though. Lovecraftian horrors, demons and other creeptastic things. "I'm almost afraid to ask but... What are you painting?" 

"Macbeth," Pitch replied. "I'm trying to get back into it, but..." He spread his hands to the side, shaking his head. "I should be glad to get anything done." Then he turned and walked back the way he had come - or so Jack assumed - and Jack followed after him. 

They ended up in a fairly large studio, and when Jack looked, it turned out that Pitch had been painting _Lady Macbeth_ , which was a nice switch up from the usual art he had seen of the play. "It looks good," he said, not bothering to cover his surprise. The painting was the only thing that looked like it had been touched in years, though, and Jack let his curiosity get the better of him and began prowling around the room. The thing that tripped him up was the giant block of black marble. It was too beautiful to be sitting, untouched, in a place like this. "What are you doing with this?" he asked, glancing at Pitch. 

"I..." Pitch made a loud, frustrated sound. "You know what? I've had that blasted thing since World War II, and I _still_ don't know what to do with it. That _thing_ is why I need to 'get back into it'. I haven't been able to work on anything since I acquired it." 

Sensing that this was a subject that he didn't want to step into, all Jack said in reply was, "I don't know what to say. I can sculpt, a little, but, well, my medium melts away with the sun. Anyway, I had a question for you, since Folken was being weird, and Jökul's making himself scarce: I've had people giving me things..." 

"Things?" Pitch snorted. Some time during Jack's exploration, he had started working on the painting again, only pausing briefly for his little rant about the marble. His hand made quick, deft movements with the brush, making Jack doubt that he had to work too hard to "get back into it". "What kind of things?" 

"Like, I don't know. Little things, like pendants and rocks and, well, charms and talismans, because there's some kind of magic on them, but... I'm not exactly familiar with it." The strokes of the brush were mesmerizing, and it took Jack a moment to get back to what he had been saying. "Anyway, I figured one of you would know what that was about. Bunny said you used to practically live there, so, yeah." 

"Charms?" Jack nodded, and Pitch put down the brush. "Do you happen to have one on you?" 

"Yeah, actually," Jack pulled it out of his pocket. It was a tiny, wooden songbird, given to him by a bird spirit just that morning. 

Pitch took it and examined it. "Memory charm," he announced. "It's a tradition, when there's a new member of the court, to use memory charms to, say, catch them up on old gossip." He laughed quietly. "Mostly, they're made so certain things aren't forgotten. Our kind can live long enough to forget lifetimes' worth of knowledge - this is a way around it." 

"Cool," Jack replied brightly, accepting the charm back. "How do I use it?" 

"How did you use your memory box? It's similar enough to the way the Tooth Fairy keeps the memories of children." Going back to his painting, Pitch added, "Be careful, though. Some of them might be unpleasant, even distasteful. Consider how much you respect or trust anyone who gives you one before you even look at it." 

"Sooo," Jack asked, twirling the charm between his fingers, "does that mean that you keep them too?" 

"I have hundreds," Pitch replied dryly, "if not thousands. I haven't counted them for many, many years." 

"Cool," Jack muttered. "Can I see them?" 

He was getting used to the way incredulity twisted Pitch's face. "What did I just tell you?" he asked, exasperated. 

Jack laughed again. "I'm just curious." 

"Curiosity," Pitch said darkly, "killed the cat." 

"And satisfaction brought him back," Jack retorted. "I'm serious." 

Pitch just stared at him, a bemused frown on his face for a long moment before he sighed. "Not now, boy. Perhaps later, if I'm bored." 

Jack grinned. There were good things about having a penchant for trouble, and Pitch just proved it. He was so looking forward to this that he didn't think he would leave until Pitch decided that he would show him these thousands of charms he had. 

That had been the plan, anyway. Pitch kicked him out before long, telling him that his nervous energy was distracting. Nevermind that, though. Jack would be back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Expect Crack (unless I accidentally delete it again).
> 
> I win. Go home.


	24. Rules and the Breaking Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Pitch learn their way around their friendship, and Jökul does not approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda cracky but it was fun.

Present

_Stop moving things._

It was written on the wall, above the kitchen sink, in scratchy handwriting. Jack contemplated it while doing the dishes - Pitch had given up on even bothering with them. It wasn't like they used many, but there was always a mug or two, and a few previously rinsed off plates in the sink. Or on the counter. On the table. On one of the many beds in one of the many rooms that Pitch kept. Pitch left things in strange places, which meant, in Jack's mind, that he hung out in weird places when Jack wasn't around. 

He scrubbed the writing off of the wall, a task that took longer than it should have (was that a grease pen?), and plotted his reply. In the end, he wrote on a piece of paper, in small but clear handwriting, and iced it to the wall where Pitch's unsubtle note had been. 

_Stop leaving things in stupid places._

* * *

"Why are you tying rats together?" Jack asked, and Pitch's hands stilled as he looked up at Jack. 

"I'm trying to beat my record," he replied, starting back up. The rats didn't even seem bothered by the action. If Jack didn't know better, the rats were actually _happy_ to have the boogeyman tying them together by their tails. 

That was disturbing. "Your record?" he asked, dubious. 

"Thirty-two," said Pitch. "Rat Kings are commonly viewed as the harbingers of plague - and while plague isn't something I generally deal in, the fear of it is a beautiful thing, especially in this modern era. The fear of things you cannot see is more defined than it once was." 

"This isn't an artist thing, is it?" Jack should have seen this coming, ever since he saw that paintbrush in Pitch's hand. He was _weaving_ with animals. 

"No, it's a boogeyman thing," Pitch replied. "Are you just going to sit there and stare, or are you going to help?" 

"Help?" Jack shook his head, giggling. "Yeah, sure, why not." He picked up a rat out of the container Pitch had them in and marveled at how limp it was in his hand. He could feel its heartbeat - fast for a human, but likely slow for a rodent - and it was warm. "What do you plan to do with them when you're done?" He had a horrible idea blossoming in his head, but would wait until Pitch answered before mentioning it. 

"I have no idea," Pitch said. "And that's the beauty of it. I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do with them." 

"You can put them in the walls of the basement at the CDC," Jack suggested, certain that he was going back on the naughty list for this one. 

Pitch's expression was like that of a man seeing the sun for the first time in years - minus the wincing. "I knew there was a reason I put up with you." 

That was how they found out that they had a similar sense of humor. 

* * *

The note above the kitchen sink had been ripped down three times, with Pitch's rebuttal scribbled on the wall beneath, before Jack left the notepad behind. 

_Stop writing on the wall._

* * *

Slowly, while Jack and Pitch learned their way around their friendship, Jökul worked his way back into Pitch's life. He wouldn't hazard a guess as to what was going on in the man's head, but a short time after the notepad had been run out and replaced with a slate board, that quickly filled with rules that changed by the day, a new hand became visible across it. Jökul's handwriting was atrocious, and between Jack and Pitch, it took longer to decipher than they would like to admit. 

_This is not allowed._

"What's not allowed?" Pitch demanded of the silent wall. It was a good question, and Jack wanted it answered too. Unfortunately, Jökul went back to making himself scarce, so he couldn't ask him directly. 

"How the hell did this guy manage a relationship long enough to have children?" he asked Pitch at one point. 

"I wouldn't call those relationships anything more than a passing distraction," Pitch replied, shrugging. "He likes them for as long as he finds them interesting, and as soon as he gets bored, he leaves them. As far as I've noticed, I'm the only one he comes back to." 

Jack looked him up and down. Pitch was a lanky bastard - too skinny, too tall, too funny looking. His face had an alien quality to it that was only exacerbated by his gray skin tone. "I don't get it." 

He let out a laugh, disguised as a cough. "You rude little shit." 

Yet, Jack noticed, he didn't disagree. 

* * *

The notes - not the rules between Jack and Pitch, but the other notes - started appearing all over the lair. Once, Jack opened the refrigerator to find a cake. "Hey, you know that you have cake?" 

"I do?" Pitch asked, leaning around Jack to see what he was looking at. There it was, written in the frosting... "What the fuck isn't allowed?" 

While trying to figure that out, they ate the cake - which Jökul probably hadn't intended. 

* * *

Another time, they had fallen asleep side by side after a video game marathon (because Pitch actually liked some of those cheesy horror games), and woke up to find what looked like blood on the walls. Well, it looked like blood. It smelled a lot more like jam. 

Pitch's reaction to the latest iteration of _This is not allowed._ only made it worse. "You know, I think he's trying to court me." He sounded downright gleeful at the prospect. 

"Your boyfriend's a freak," Jack replied. He thought that Pitch wasn't right at all. This looked more like a stupid fit of jealousy to him. 

"You do realize that he's you?" 

Jack shuddered at that. "Perish the thought. I am not growing up to be like that." 

* * *

He didn't let the wind lead him astray this time when hunting Jökul down. He was at the palace, which made things both easier and harder, but eventually he managed to corner him. "You don't have to be worried about your boyfriend, you know," he told him, one hand fisted against his hip as he leaned against his staff. "He's too weird to date." 

"Who said I was worried?" Jökul asked, with an offended pout. 

"Who says you're not?" Jack retorted. 

There was a long moment of glaring before Jökul broke, and yelled, "Stay away from Pitch!" 

Jack yelled right back, "You can't tell me how to live my life!" 

At the doorway, Lulu turned to Folken and said, "I walk in on the strangest things..." 

* * *

As though he had actually listened, Jökul suddenly went back to normal. He even started joining them doing things. It was weird, but hey, Jack lived weird. He was amused to find the new row on the rule board. The thing that cracked him up though was at the top of Jökul's rule list, in a passable imitation of Jack's much smaller, neater script: 

_This is not allowed._

They left it there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (planned) chapter might be cracky too. Idek.


	25. An Egg and a Pest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jökul tests people's patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still cracky.

Present

Bunny was adamantly _not_ yet awake. Thoughts of his morning ablutions fell away when he spotted Jökul in his garden. "What the hell are you even doing here, mate?" he wondered aloud. Jökul looked up at him, drill held aloft in one hand, then looked down at the egg he held in the other. "No," he said, feeling a headache coming on. It was too early to have to deal with a trickster, far too early. "Put that down, and tell me what the heck are you even thinking?" 

"I was going to dissect it," Jökul said slowly, as though talking to a small child. The googie's little feet moved frantically against the winter wight's fingers. 

"What do you expect to be inside? It's a bloody _egg_ ," Bunny told him, already exasperated. He shouldn't have to deal with things like this before he so much as got to the toilet, first thing in the morning. Jökul's face gained a stubborn cast, one he'd seen on Jack a few times. 

"Magic and sprinkles?" Jökul queried, looking more serious than he had any right to be when saying those words. 

The older spirit wasn't about to let it go, so Bunny sighed. "Look, give me half a moment, will ya? I'll be back in a jiff, and just... Don't do anything 'til I come back, right?" He went and grabbed a small frying pan, and when he came back, Jökul was still in the same position as when he left. "Alright, hand him here," he said, and held out his hand for the undyed googie. With a pass of his fingers, the tiny legs disappeared, leaving the egg completely inanimate. "This is what's inside," and he cracked the egg on the edge of the pan, letting the insides spill out, then thrust the pan into Jökul's hands. "Are we done now?" 

"B-but the kids eat them!" 

Was he actually worried about that? Bunny wondered. "'S magic. Don't be stupid. Does it seem like Easter to you?" Around Easter, he wouldn't have tolerated Jökul's interference, either, no matter how big a deal he was. "Go away. I have work to do." 

Jökul left, egg-in-pan still in hand. 

"Bloody tricksters," he grumbled, and turned to go about his day. 

* * *

"Look," Jökul shoved a small frying pan into Pitch's face, "Bunny gave me a present!" 

"There's a raw egg in it," Pitch replied, trying to move around the other spirit and his pan without resorting to using the shadows. If the pan continued following his face, he might give up sooner than he thought. "It's an egg pan and an egg. Why would he give you that?" Probably, something in the back of his mind threw forward, to make him go away. _And so it starts..._ he mused. 

"I don't ken why... Egg pan? Like, this pan is specifically meant for eggs?" Jökul tilted his prize to look at it, and with a relieved sound, Pitch slipped past him. "But aren't they like, his young? And he eats them!?" 

He stopped to give Jökul an incredulous look. "You make me question, day after day, why I chose you." He shook his head. "You give me headaches. They are not his young. I don't know what you know about Pookas, but those are not his young." 

"You keep saying that," Jökul said, placing the pan on the stove. "But I don't think I believe you." 

"For all that the Pooka is a strange and lonely thing, I doubt he's that strange and lonely," Pitch said, already making his way out of the kitchen. He wasn't about to stick around when Jökul was being like this. "I'm heading out!" 

Behind him, he heard Jökul mutter, "What did I say?" 

* * *

He wouldn't normally seek out Jack, but most of those he would usually visit hadn't seen him in years, and he didn't want to abruptly impose on them. Fall was getting ready to slip into winter in the Northern Hemisphere, and in Burgess, they had a nice coat of snow that the children were already playing in. He didn't let his distaste show. It wasn't that he didn't like children. He was just slightly irked at these children in particular. 

The smallest boy, with the glasses, spotted him first, and did a remarkable imitation of what he'd done the first time Pitch had seen him. Ran right in his direction screaming happily, spotted him, then turned and ran screaming an entirely different kind of scream. It was good to be seen, even if the kid was screaming for Jack to come save him. 

"What are you doing out here? I thought you were planning to skulk around your lair today," said Jack, leaping to stand on a nearby fence with a weightless flip. 

Pitch brushed snow off of the same fence, so that he could sit on it. He didn't like sitting in snow - less because it was cold, and more because it melted and made his clothes sodden with water. "That was the plan," he sighed. "It was derailed when Jökul came in in the beginning stages of idiocy." 

"Gee, Mr Boogeyman, I can't quite think of anything that would make you say that! Whatever did he do?" The cheesy grin didn't make it sound any better. 

Pitch tried to decide whether or not Jack was going to be as bad as Jökul today, and whether or not he should risk it. "He didn't come in sounding like a fifties sitcom," he replied. 

Jack laughed, "Well gollee gee." He crouched down next to Pitch, still chortling. "I'm serious though. It's like you've got Stockholm syndrome or something..." 

It took a moment of shuffling with his memory to get what that was. Humans had interesting names for so many conditions. "Not quite, but... Oh, almost, on both sides. I do believe we've each tortured the other quite enough. But no, today I just couldn't handle his particular brand of idiocy. I have this awful feeling that he's going to keep it up all day." 

"Jaaaack?" said a small voice and they looked down in unison to see Jamie Bennett staring up at them - actually at both of them. Pitch was pleased. He hadn't been sure that any of the children would see him at all, much less during the day - much less Jamie Bennett. 

"What's up, Jamie?" asked Jack, grinning down at the child, whose eyes were on Pitch. 

"Isn't he a bad guy?" asked the boy, hesitantly. 

"These days, it's a matter of definition," said Pitch, and Jamie scowled. 

"That's not an answer," he said, but Jack was shaking his head, so Jamie turned to him. 

"Actually, it's a pretty good answer," Jack said. "It's like, when you're at school, and the other kids keep stepping on your toes, 'cause they aren't watching where they're going, and you get mad, and get sent to detention... You aren't _bad_ , just because you got angry. Everyone shares a little blame, even the teacher who didn't ask why you were mad." From the look on Jamie's face, Jack's story was something that recently happened to him. 

Pitch coughed before Jack could continue on. "I would say that my... situation, or reaction... was more extreme than that, but I suppose it's a decent enough analogy." It really wasn't, but for all intents and purposes, it was good enough. 

"It's not like you've told me why you were mad," Jack shrugged. "But unless they're crazy, people don't get mad for no reason. And if you're crazy, we can't really blame you." 

"Thank you," Pitch drawled. Sarcasm practically dripped from the words. "I now know who to go to when my honor needs to be defended." 

"Don't worry, Pitch," Jack said, grinning and nudging his ribs, much to Jamie's confusion. "You'll always be the prettiest princess!" 

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, Pitch's face a mask of irritation, which gave way with an undignified snort. "That wasn't funny." 

"And yet you laugh," Jack pointed out. 

"But why is he here?" asked Jamie, scowling at Pitch. 

"Ah, that," Pitch murmured. "Honestly, I had to leave my own lair before I was forced to witness Jökul spontaneously combusting. That isn't an image I would like to revisit." 

"But he's a _winter spirit_ , isn't he?!" Jamie asked, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. "That doesn't make sense! And you say it like it's happened before!" 

"Child, once you've surpassed most spirits' ideas of ancient, it becomes harder to think of things you _haven't_ done to yourself. It sometimes gets to the point that you'll do _anything_ to relieve your boredom. And Jökul has always had a good grasp of the natural sciences." He tried very hard to ignore Jack's chortling. 

"Can I turn my powers inside out like a hat?" Jack asked rhetorically. 

"Something like that," Pitch agreed dryly. 

"You're not as scary like this," Jamie said, looking up at him curiously. "It's like you aren't even trying." 

"That's because I'm not. Besides," he sighed, glancing sideways at Jack, who was muffling a chortle against his arm, "I'm retired, and the brats have stopped kicking down my fence. Metaphorically speaking." It was a stretched metaphor, but it worked well enough. "I've been, dare I say, in an actual _good mood_ lately, and I don't want to ruin it by being petty." 

"So, uh, why would Jökul combust, anyway?" Jack asked. 

"Last I saw him, he was heading for the kitchen with an egg pan. That was as good of an indicator as any..." 

* * *

It smelled like burned wool, when Jack and Pitch came back to Pitch's lair. Burned wool and ice crystals on the air, and when they came to the common room - where Pitch kept a comfy couch and a few bookshelves and some decent entertainment technology - Jökul was sitting primly on the couch as though nothing was wrong, even though his scarf was scorched all to hell. There was soot everywhere, including on Jökul's face, and Jack turned to Pitch and asked, "How did you know? It looks like he actually did it!" 

The look on Pitch's face was comedic, for all he looked shocked. "I have no idea," he said. "I've never shown signs of prescience before..." He went on to mutter about how diet could affect such things, and Jack stifled a laugh. "You'd be surprised," Pitch told him, "what unfortunate changes in diet can do to your powers." 

"You're serious," Jack laughed again. "Wow. I don't know if I even want to know." 

"It could be important one day," Pitch shrugged, before walking over to plop down next to Jökul. "What happened?" 

Jökul just grunted and determinedly refused to look at either of them. "He's too embarrassed to say, apparently," said Jack, and then he went to investigate the kitchen, because he had his suspicions as to what might have happened. A squeal of rage escaped him when he saw the damage. "My kitchen!" he howled. And there was no undoing some of it. The soot could be cleaned away. The ice would melt. The oven, on the other hand, would need to be completely replaced. He stalked back to the other room, and was about to start yelling at Jökul about it face to face, but... 

There are some things you just don't interrupt. When the boogeyman is being creeptastic toward someone, that is one of those things. "When was the last time you washed this?" he demanded of Jökul, tugging at his toasted scarf. 

"Uh... I haven't," Jökul admitted, and it would have been funny, the affront in Pitch's expression... 

"And your cloak?" he asked dubiously. 

"Pitch, it's a cloak, you don't exactly wash those very often... What are you doing?" One moment Jökul was talking, the next his bare ass was in the air. The very next instant he was naked under one large blanket that had appeared out of nowhere, perhaps due to Pitch's sense of modesty. 

Jack just stood in the room's entryway, wondering what he had just witnessed. All the while Pitch was bundling the clothes that he had power stripped from Jökul. "I'm going to... No, I was _going to_ wash them. Instead, I think I'll replace them..." 

Jack decided that he would bitch about the kitchen another time. And while Pitch went and did whatever to Jökul's clothes, he would try and repair what damage he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea yet about next chapter. If you want to see anything specific, or are curious about something I missed/didn't explain well, ask here or on Tumblr. I always respond to asks and reviews.


	26. The Talk and a Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jökul tries to explain a thing to Jack. Then he finds that Jack wasn't quite what he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more serious, but still weird.

Present

"I'm serious, I'm not going to try to steal your boyfriend," Jack told Jökul for what had to be the dozenth time. "It's weird enough that you like him, I'm not about to start getting the whatevers for him just because you have them." He had a hard time even wrapping his head around the concept of sex, much less trying to apply it to people he knew, _much less_ with Jökul and Pitch. _Jack_ wasn't interested in sex at all, and he found Jökul's interest in it to be more than a little weird. Beyond a little "whoa, that's interesting," that came up here and there, and some embarrassment, he just didn't get it. 

Jökul looked skeptical, but didn't reply right away, instead keeping a watchful eye on his sheep. "What do you even ken about it, anyway?" he eventually asked, adjusting the peacoat Pitch had shoved him into earlier that morning. "Can't be much." 

He grimaced, kicking his feet back and forth. They were perched on a high sea cliff, and below them, the larger sheep stood right on the water, while the tiny ones frolicked in the waves. "I've seen plenty more than I've wanted to," Jack said, fidgeting with his staff. "I've lived, off and on, you know, when I'm at the grove, with a faun and some dryads for quite a while. Martin might come across as a stiff, but fauns _are_ related to satyrs, so, yeah. I've walked in on stuff." Not even bringing up the sex party Sammy had dragged him to, because no, Jack was not going there. Jökul would comment. 

"It's not the same," Jökul replied. "Seeing it, I mean. We're cold blooded - comes with having died to get where we are. It takes the warmth of another to truly bring us to life." 

Jack snorted. Pitch was a freaking furnace - he had been close enough to him to notice that - and while it was oddly relaxing to be so close to a heat source like that, it didn't really pique his interest. Made him sleepy sometimes, which was funny because it was Pitch, but that was all. "Is that why you and him are..?" He crooked his pinky finger at Jökul and waited for him to get it. When he didn't, Jack rolled his eyes. "You know, what is it they say now? Doing the frick frack?" 

That startled Jökul into laughter. "No. That's... a long story. One I'm not so inclined to tell. I ken, sometimes, that we didn't have a choice. We were _drawn_ to each other. You have a choice though. You should exercise it. Just not with Pitch." 

Remembering the odd man in the club, from way back then, Jack wondered aloud, "Maybe I'm asexual." He had even picked up Moby's book once it had been published, and while it had explained a few things, he still didn't really get it. 

Another laugh. "I doubt it." 

Doubtfully, he asked, "Too young physically?" He knew better though. Hormones were in full swing for most boys by the age of fourteen, so Jack was stumped. 

"It's because your body was dead," Jökul said, bringing back his earlier point. "You probably won't be interested until suddenly _Hello_ out of nowhere, and then you'll be so flat footed that you'll end up letting some stupid prick drag you off someplace private..." 

Jack wasn't going to pry, but that sounded like Jökul was repeating his own experience. "I should probably stop reflexively flirting, then, right?" He knew why he did it. The best defense was a good offense and all that. 

"Yep," Jökul agreed. "That can get you into a shit-ton of trouble. If someone pushes because they take it as an invitation, just tell them you're a dead spirit. That'll get most of them to back the fuck off." 

Jack turned that over in his mind, drumming his heels against the stone beneath him. "Why? Why would that do anything?" 

"You're a fairly powerful ice spirit. Being a dead spirit on top of that? Think about it this way: Why do humans fear Yuki-onna?" Jökul was staring intently at him, waiting for the small, confused sound Jack made in response. It wasn't that he didn't know what Yuki-onna did, but the inference that he might do the same was appalling. "One of the problems with Yuki-onna is that they're addicts, and the only thing stopping us from becoming like that is self control." He laughed. "Then there's the catch-22. It takes warmth from an outside source to make the body start working right, but until the body is working like that, you don't crave the warmth - unless you've become addicted." 

Jack blew a raspberry at him. "Spirits are weird. I thought humans had it hard." He shook his head and leant over to put his face in one hand. 

"Humans are slaves to their bodies - makes things much more straightforward. Spirits are, well, there's a bajillion types and subtypes, and if you figure all that out, then you're doing better than me." Jökul shifted until he too was leaning forward, over the edge of the cliff. "Anyway, I figured you should probably know that. No one kent to tell me, and I would have appreciated it." 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sheep and the waves. In the distance, sea lions barked. "So, when you said that you wanted to talk to me this morning, is this what you meant?" 

"Ah, no, actually." Jökul stood and offered a hand to Jack. "I was planning to teach you a few things that you probably haven't had a chance to learn yet. On that note, Pitch told me something strange, so before we get to it, you're going to show me this frost lightning of yours." 

Jack blinked up at him, accepting the hand and allowing himself to be lifted. "You can't do that?" he asked, curious. 

"No, it didn't sound like anything I do, but I want you to demonstrate it, just to be sure..." Jack didn't quite wait for him to finish, and, with perfect aim, blasted it right past his ear. Jökul went silent, staring at him again. "Whaaa..?" Then he smacked himself in the face. "Why didn't I see this? Manny, you opportunistic little shit." He dropped right back down to a sit. "That was not what I was expecting." 

Jack let the lightning crackle up and down his staff, frowning at it. It looked the same as before - kinda like normal ice, only internally lit. "So... You can't do that?" 

"No." Jökul didn't immediately elaborate, either, just jumped back up and began to pace. "Fuck, but does that explain some things. You weren't reacting to things the way I was expecting, and I kent, hey, the world's a bit different this time around. He has fairies? That's neat. But you were reacting different... Aagh. The fuck. Now I know how Lulu felt. Fuck. And just what _have_ you been up to for the past three hundred years?" he asked, suddenly whirling around and grabbing Jack by the shoulders. 

"Living?" Jack said, uncertain. He didn't know what was so different, why he could make the frost lighting and apparently Jökul couldn't, and he was just. So. Confused. "Don't be mean - I don't know what's going on." 

"Of course not," Jökul grumbled, tensing his fingers rhythmically against the meaty part of Jacks shoulders. "Before I begin teaching you _anything_ we are going to find out what you already know how to do." 

"Oh, okay," he replied, his voice small. He wasn't scared, not really, but the outburst had been unexpected, and he was really confused. 

Taking pity on him, Jökul explained, "You were made different. Manny, the conniving little shit, did something very different when he made you, as opposed to when I was made. It makes our powers, while similar, different on a level. I'm ice. At my most basic, that's all my power is. Ice and cold and snowstorms... There's something else in the mix, with you. But until I get confirmation, that's all I'm saying." 

Then he was dragged into a sparring match - where Jökul cut him absolutely no slack for their age difference. It was going to be a long and painful day, he foresaw, long before he hit the ground the first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about something I left out, or haven't gotten to yet? Don't be afraid to ask, here or on tumblr. I don't bite, and I always answer.


	27. The Hot Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old acquaintance returns, and it doesn't go very well for Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, potentially triggery? If anyone has any issues, I'll add them to the tags, but I'm not sure how to tag it, or if it even needs tags...
> 
> For azerblazer, your questions convinced me to write this part. :)

Approx. circa 1810

The child was crying. The snow muffled the sounds as they stumbled through it. Their clothes weren't enough for the weather, and the town wasn't close enough. Jack wouldn't be able to help much, he didn't think, as much as he wanted to. "Just gotta make it to the hot spring," they mumbled, and Jack reached out with his senses. Sure enough, through the cold of the blizzard, he could feel the emanating heat of the water, steam turning to diamond dust near the entrance of the caverns in which it was located. It was really close, and the kid was heading _almost_ in the right direction. It wouldn't be too hard to make it easier for them to head one way rather than the other. 

The child sagged with relief when they found the entrance to the cavern, and curiously, Jack followed through. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was dim and the air was both warm and wet. Tiny feet stumbled across the uneven cavern floor, and when he was certain that the child was about to fall, Jack reached out and caught them. 

And he froze. Because this could be no human child. If it was, he wouldn't be able to touch them. Jack turned the small body in his hands until he could look into its face. Dead, empty eyes stared back at him from a perfect, doll-like face. Simulacrum. The word flitted through his mind even as the thing gave him one strong shove and he toppled over into the water. 

He thrashed as he landed, sending water everywhere. With the sudden influx of pure heat, hotter than summer, the thrashing quickly grew weak, and he slipped down under the water, until a cruel hand gripped his hair and pulled him back up. All of a sudden, air was back, and he gasped frantically, sure that he was going to be dropped back into the water at any moment. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" crooned a soft voice in his ear, and he stilled again as he recognized it. 

Eyes wide with horror, he turned his face just enough to confirm his fear. _It is her,_ he realized. The witch didn't look any different than before, with the exception of unbound hair and the fact that all she wore was a thin shift in the warmth of the cavern. "What did you do to me?" he gasped, certain now that it wasn't the _heat_ that was making it difficult to move. 

She used her grip in his hair to tilt his head toward the water. "I set a little trap for you - with bait that I was sure you couldn't resist. You see, last time I was overconfident, and I didn't know what to do with you. Now, however," she paused and, forcing him to look at her again, with her other hand traced a line along his jaw, "I've had a long time to think about it." With that, she eased her grip on his hair and left him at the edge of the pool, which glowed faintly around him. Now that he looked, he could see the shapes of sigils on the cavern walls, and in the glowing depths of the steaming water. "Another way I failed last time," the witch sighed, stepping into the water next to him, "is that I wasn't ready to handle a creature with that kind of power. This place, however, could drain Mother Nature herself if she were to fall into the water. It won't kill you, though." She moved around him and abruptly dropped into his lap. And she wasn't really heavy, but... He didn't like this. "Pretty boy, that's still for me." 

She took his jaw in one hand, and with the other she smeared something gritty on his face, not stopping even when he tried to jerk away. "Let me go," he said, tipping his face away from her. He knew she wouldn't do it, but he had to say it. 

"No," she answered simply, still smearing whatever it was on his face in what he could now recognize was a swirling pattern. Why could she move so easily anyway, sitting waist deep in the water, when he could barely even move his arms and head? As though reading his thoughts, she said, "Unlike you, I'm protected." She pushed his chin up a fraction to draw a swirl on it. "And we are fundamentally different from each other in ways that I could only speculate about before; and now, I'm given proof. Do you feel it yet?" 

_Feel what?_ he wondered, alarmed. Did he feel drained and oddly heavy? Or did he feel something else that he had no way of knowing what was until it happened? He knew he was afraid, and her hands on his face weren't helping, as she peered into his eyes, as though that would tell her what she wished to know. 

"It would be remiss," she said, still looking into his eyes, "to not introduce myself at this point. You can call me Greta, but I already know your name, Jack Frost." Her fingers pressed along his jaw, and when all he did was wince and shake, she cursed softly and stood. "This isn't working." She stepped back and looked at his still body, head tilted contemplatively. With a nod, she moved to leave the pool. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I'll be right back." 

_That's what I'm afraid of,_ Jack thought, working his arm up until his hand rested on his chest. He might only get one shot at this, and he was in a hurry, because he didn't know when she would come back. A relieved sigh escaped when his fingers clenched around the fairy whistle and he still hadn't heard her returning footsteps. It only took a moment's work to get the end of the whistle into his mouth, and he inhaled sharply through his nose before blowing as hard as he could on it. 

The witch's feet slapped hastily on the stone cavern floor as she hurried back. "What did you just do?" she demanded, grabbing him by the hair again and pulling. 

The whistle still hung from his lips, and he grinned around it. "Called an army," he said. It was a bluff, sort of. The fairies were numerous enough to be a small army, but he doubted that they counted as one. But they did tell him that they would save him if he needed it, and god, did he need it right now. He had no idea what the witch intended, but he knew it wasn't good. 

She tugged at his hair again. "You shouldn't lie. I know that you're still under ban, you silly boy." With her grip on his hair, she pulled his head back until he was trapped looking straight upward. And there was her face. "Hold still," she told him, and let go of his hair. A glass vial, cool by comparison with his surroundings, was placed against his lips, which he pressed firmly together in refusal. "Don't make this hard on yourself, boy," she admonished. He wasn't going to open his mouth that easily. Whatever was in the vial had a horrid scent that made his head spin. When he tried to turn his head to the side, she jerked at his hair again. "Open up..." 

The hand that had been fisted in his hair moved down to pinch his nose and it wasn't long before his mouth popped open in a gasp for air. It tasted as nasty as it smelled, and she forced his mouth shut around it, dropping the vial into the water. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, from the back forward, and managed to squirt most of the liquid into her hand. Then he did it again, to spit out the rest, glaring defiantly at her. 

She laughed and patted his face. "Don't think that you've won, pretty boy." Her face lowered until her lips rested at his ear. "I didn't need for you to swallow it." 

Panic returned to him at that. "Oh god..." He hoped that his fairies would show up soon. While he didn't know what they would be able to do, he was sure that they could help him. It was much to his confusion when, as though his thoughts were all it took, he could hear the buzz of a couple hundred pairs of fairy wings. 

"Wha..?" she didn't even manage to finish the word before the swarm reached them, pulling her back, away from Jack. The witch shrieked as they attacked her, and didn't let up. 

Half a dozen fairies separated from the swarm, and one grabbed two big handfuls of his hair and pulled. Another leant her strength by pulling on the collar of his shirt. Between the six of them they quickly had him out of the water, and as soon as he was out, he found that he could move again. Not waiting to see what would happen, he snatched his staff off of the cavern floor and summoned a gust of wind to take him out of there, leaving the witch, still screaming under the clawing hands of two hundred fairies, behind. The entire swarm soon followed after him. As he reached the jet stream, thoughts of home on his mind, he did a spot check, trying to make sure that no one was left behind in his haste. Once he was satisfied, in spite of the panicked scrambling of his mind, he trained his complete concentration on the wind. 

* * *

Hours later, and the heat wasn't dissipating. Jack paced back and forth across the central glade, the two cervitaurs and the faun trailing behind him at a slight distance. His stomach felt wrong, he was dizzy, and he was sweating. "I can't handle this," he groaned, and paused for a moment. The vibration of his voice had felt interesting, but now wasn't the time to explore it. "I need," this time, his voice was a whine, and... that felt interesting too, but it wasn't important, not right now. "It's too warm, and I can't. I can't and I don't know what's wrong with me!" He cast a hopeless look in their direction, and the three had identical looks of worry on their faces. The fairies buzzed around him as well, in a cacophony of sympathy, as though they knew exactly what was happening to him. Yet, he couldn't seem to still himself enough to ask them. 

Martin was the first to make a suggestion, however. "You could go and jump in a lake?" While the tone was querulous, the suggestion was sound, or so Jack thought. 

He found himself nodding before he even thought it through. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds good." An icy cold lake sounded really good, and there was a pond just nearby, that was fed from mountain streams. It was only a short distance away, and it took him less than ten seconds to reach it. He dropped right in, with a careless splash, and felt the breath explode from his lungs in shock at the temperature change. An instant later, he burst above the surface, with a pained gasp. "C-c-cold!" 

That was bad. He could only hope that he wasn't irrevocably damaged by whatever the witch had given him. The overwhelming feeling of cold backed off, and slowly, his thoughts started becoming clearer. Just to be sure, he floated in the water for a while, just breathing and hoping. Because no, this wasn't how his day was supposed to go, and if he ever saw that witch again, he was going to kill her. Once he felt like he had his equilibrium back, he paddled awkwardly back to the edge of the pond, and, exhausted, plopped face down on the bank. 

He really had to thank the fairies, but as it was, he thought that he might prefer to take a nap. After a day like this, he certainly needed one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we return to something a little more cheerful, and Jack annoys people about centers.


	28. Centers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wonders about the center thing and asks about them. Pitch and Jökul are obtuse about theirs.

Present

Wonder. Hope. Dreams. Memories. They were all big, important things, the Centers of Jack's fellow Guardians. Fun didn't seem to stand on the same level. It was good for him, but he wasn't sure that it was as important as the others. 

But he was curious, and he wondered about the other spirits he knew, what their centers were. What was Queen Lulu's? Folken's? Raven's? Jökul's and Pitch's and that of all those other people he had met? 

He didn't even know if it was impolite to ask directly - then again, North had been pretty forward asking about Jack's. Folken's was easy to find out - it was something that was gossiped about, how someone so dour ended up so close to the queen. Duty. And it sounded right. He just seemed like that kind of guy. 

Lulu's was said to be "home". Jökul's was much speculated on, but no one seemed to agree on what it was. They said, "I don't know, no one seems to know," and "it's a mystery to me," and "tomfoolery, I suspect." It matched what North had said before - "Is _mystery_." Jack had a few suspicions, based on what he heard and from his interactions with Jökul, but he would have to ask him some time, to find out if he was right. 

Pitch was... When asked, people would dither, citing discomfort. "Nightmares, perhaps?" wondered one spirit. "I haven't seen him here recently, but I've heard that he changed a lot, so... It might not be what it was." Jack found that interesting. He hadn't known that they could change, and he said so. "It's a peculiar spirit," they said, and although their beak made them incapable of smiling, they seemed to anyway, "that doesn't have their center change at least once, as they become an adult. Mine didn't. But I've always had a steady, plodding sort of personality." 

Jack hummed in reply, and wandered off. It was disconcerting to hear that his center might change, but he supposed it could be a good thing. Maybe. It all depended on what it became, which, after a fashion, brought him back to Jökul. But that hardly mattered. Jack didn't plan on ever becoming like Jökul. 

* * *

He planned, at some point, to bring up Jökul's center with Jökul, but first, he decided, he would ask Pitch about _his_. "Now why would I tell you that, other than to satisfy your curiosity?" Pitch asked, staring down at him expectantly from his position on a ladder. 

Pursing his lips, Jack thought over his reply. Knowing Pitch... "To brag?" He grinned up at the older spirit, trying for an innocent permutation of the look. 

It was wasted, as Pitch went on doing as he had been when Jack arrived. He was painting again, and the canvas was huge - so far sporting an image of what looked like the night sky. He looked thoughtful as he added tiny details to his work, and eventually he told Jack, "No, I don't think its one that suits bragging. Try again." 

Jack frowned at him. "Dddddrrrrama?" No, that wasn't good. Pitch probably wouldn't even admit to being a drama queen. 

Pitch looked down at him again, arching an eyebrow. "There's nothing very dramatic about it eith... I _am not_ over-dramatic!" He wore the offended look like a cat. "Humph. How about this? I'll tell you what it was, but I'll let you guess what it _is_ , since I know that you'll keep bothering me." 

Jack grinned again. "That sounds fun," he said. 

"Yes, silly child, follow the shiny, bouncy ball," Pitch replied condescendingly. 

He bridled at that. "Seriously? You are such a jerk! Anyway, if you're going to tell me, then tell me." 

"A long time ago, it was Pride," Pitch said, voice very quiet as he returned to his painting. "But you've heard the saying, 'Pride goeth before a fall,' haven't you? When I fell, it became Despair. That stayed with me for longer than I ever expected to live. When I stood back up... That's when it became what it is now." 

Jack turned that over in his head for a couple minutes. He half suspected that Pitch had almost straight up _told_ him, with the way he worded it, but he couldn't quite figure it out. "Nope," he said, still frowning. "I don't get it." 

"I'll tell you if you manage to guess right." With a small flourish of the brush, the moon in the painting began to vaguely resemble an eye. "I wouldn't even _think_ to give you a time limit. So, you can go away now." 

He would, but he wasn't quite done yet. "What's Jökul's?" 

Pitch laughed, "Now _that_ is not for me to tell. He likes to keep everyone on their toes, and I've found it amusing enough to let him keep his little secret. You'll have to figure that one out for yourself. If it makes you feel any better, you and Jökul are about as transparent as mud, with minds like a bag full of cats." 

"Gee, thanks." Jack watched Pitch paint for a little while longer. The painting had started out looking like night sky, but it was the little details the boogeyman was adding in that made it start looking a little like something else. Something creepy. Something with giant teeth and a single visible gleaming eye. That little detail on the moon was what gave it away for what it was. "What is it?" 

"Why, it's the Cheshire Cat," Pitch replied, with a dark chuckle, and went on to add a star on what Jack now recognized as fur. It didn't look like any version of the Cheshire Cat that Jack had ever seen, but he wasn't about to mess with Pitch's headcanon. 

"Right-o," said Jack. After several minutes more, and watching as Pitch completely tuned out his presence, he left, with the intention to find Jökul. 

* * *

Jökul wasn't very cooperative. It wasn't that he wasn't answering Jack's question. It was that he was giving him an oblique reply. "It's a sneaky one," he said. "Before, it was always kinda dramatic. Fun, yeah, that was dramatic. Necessity, that was pretty dramatic. So was Survival. I didn't realize that Wildness was there once too, not until it was gone, but it was pretty obvious in retrospect. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to recognize it for what it was. At the time, I could hardly ken the difference between day and night - there was no structure to my thoughts. It let me recover from the damage I had taken, getting shoveled through time like that. But hey, I'm glad for what I've got now. It gave me the ability to smile again." As if to prove it, an itty bitty smile passed over Jökul's lips. "But there's a little of the older ones still there. For example: It would be no fun, to just tell you what it is now." 

"You suck. Like Pitch." 

"Wouldn't tell you what his was?" Jökul asked. The little smile dropped away, leaving Jökul looking a mix of sad and thoughtful. "I wonder. I don't ken what it is, either. I didn't even when he was the Nightmare King... All those fearlings made it harder to read him, I suppose." 

"He told me, kinda," Jack said, scowling at nothing. "But he said it like it was a bloody riddle, so... Yeah. I don't get it." Jökul nudged at him, and Jack sighed. "He told me that, a very long time ago, it was Pride, and Pride goes before a fall and all that." 

"And he fell?" Jökul asked, but he was nodding, like he had already known this part. He looked interested enough that he probably hadn't known much about it though. 

"Yeah. Then it was Despair... Until he got back up. Which made it what it is now?" He snorted. "Trust you guys to make it sound all weird. Yours is probably something along the lines of 'Why's a dog's nose always wet?'" 

Jökul blinked at him. "I've met some spirits whose centers can be described that way." 

"Because you're a jerk." 

"And you're a brat. What of it?" 

"Nothing, really. Just felt like stating the obvious." Why was it, Jack wondered, that every time he located Jökul away from the palace, or Pitch's lair, they always ended up surrounded by sheep? "And you never did tell me about the thing." 

"What thing?" 

"My thing. The thing Manny did different." He nudged Jökul back, a minor revenge for earlier. "You never told me." 

"He won't tell me," Jökul replied, looking irritated. "I'm reasonably suspicious that he stuck a freaking moonbeam or something in you, though. The freaking weirdo. That's why the light show, I think. Anyway. Keep in mind that I might be wrong. He could have done something weirder, and I wouldn't know." 

"Why is it," he wondered aloud, "that all the powerful spirits pull weird shit on me?" 

"Because it's funny, and we're surprisingly petty, when you get down to it. For example, the last time I said something rude to Emily, she tried to drown me and Pitch in lava. Go figure. I mean, what an interesting family dynamic those two have, right?" 

There were some things that Jack didn't want to know, and this one, he suspected, he wouldn't touch with a ten foot cattle prod. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly crack-ish next time, as we explore whether or not spirits get sick.
> 
> Also, I think I might offer a prize, maybe, to whoever manages to guess Pitch's (I was going to say Jökul's too, but I feel like I've made it too obvious) first. Like a drabble or something. Or an answered question, no dithering. Depending. I don't know. I'll probably just have to work it out with whoever manages to guess it, if they guess it before it comes out. Also, guesses can be done here, or on my tumblr if you'd prefer.


	29. The Baking Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns things that he doesn't want to.

Present

Jack liked people. Call it a personal quirk. He liked North, who he suspected would make a great accomplice for pranks. He liked Tooth, and her weird obsession with sticking her fingers in his mouth. He liked Sandy and his cool vibes, and Bunny, in spite of his prickly nature. The people he'd met in the Winter Court, the queen and Folken - they were all pretty rad too, and the occupants of his grove? They were some of his favorite people ever. 

He had met hundreds of other spirits, and on some level, he would swear, he liked each and every one. Even Jökul's quirks weren't irritating enough to put him completely off, and once he'd gotten used to Pitch, he'd found that the boogeyman was awesome to hang out with. He was weird as hell, and such a spaz, but he was great. 

So it wasn't unusual anymore, for Jack to just wander into Pitch's lair, looking for him. Usually, he found him fairly quickly, so it was strange to be looking around and not finding him. It was possible that Pitch was out somewhere, doing the things a boogeyman does, so Jack didn't let that stop him from doing a little exploration around the lair. Pitch kept some of the weirdest things, and Jack never knew what he would find. It was always worth looking around. In one room, there was a giant ball of silly string, brittle and gray with age, with a tiny, black plastic spider, with stick on googley eyes, sitting near the top of it, looking absurdly pleased with itself for being an inanimate object. Jack suspected that the only reason that it wasn't at the top was that Pitch had a hard time reaching as far as it was placed. 

"That is a lot of silly string," Jack commented, but the spider gave him no reply. It was on days like this that he wondered why anyone would be worried about this weirdo. He was such an obvious shut-in that Jack was always amazed when he found Pitch in other places these days, such as at the Snow Palace. Then he reminded himself of Easter, and, right. That was why. 

There were all sorts of winding halls, and on this particular visit, Jack discovered that Pitch had a doll house hobby. Or, perhaps, _had_ had. They were getting a little cobwebby. And there were hundreds (if not thousands) of them, all unique, mostly made of wood and dyed cloth. He wondered, since he had seen Pitch's studio, if the boogeyman had made them himself. There were no dolls, but there was furniture inside that looked fit for any fairy home, and Jack spent a couple hours just looking through them all, feeling like a wind giant as he floated around, trying to get a glimpse of human life. But, as numerous and intricate as the dollhouses were, they couldn't keep his attention forever, so he moved on, looking for something new. Or Pitch, whichever he found first. 

There were also a bunch of bedrooms, and Jack knew firsthand that Pitch actually slept on some of the beds. There was one room they had spent an entire day in, playing video games, before Pitch just gave up and passed out face first on the bed. Jack had faired little better that night, and drugged by the indescribable warmth Pitch radiated, he had fallen asleep as well, curled in a ball with his back right up against Pitch's side. 

But Pitch never seemed to return to that room. Instead, he slept on the couch in the living room, which seemed like a well frequented place. Or in other beds, in other bedrooms, always flat on his face. It was funny. Kind of weird, but funny. 

There didn't seem to be an actual master bedroom, and each bedroom was decorated as though an entirely different person had done the work. That was one of the many off-putting things about Pitch. Who decorated these rooms, and why? If it was Pitch, how did he manage to exhibit such different taste in each one? 

He was still contemplating this when he found Pitch. Not just Pitch. Pitch and Jökul. Who seemed to be busy. 

So much bare naked flesh! There was skin. Lots of white, white skin, and weird, grayish skin, and motion. Sheer shock kept him from realizing what he was seeing for an embarrassingly long time. When he caught up to himself, he felt his sluggish heart stop completely, and the temperature around him drop with his jaw. He was already talking when Pitch stopped and stared at him with his eyes, a brighter gold than usual, flared wide. "Oh my god. I get it. I suddenly get why kids freak out about walking in on their parents. Oh god. Oh god!" 

Jökul ruined it, exclaiming querulously, "Why'd you stop?!" 

Pitch's reply didn't help much, while Jack was still having a panic about his feet being glued in place. "We have company! It's only polite!" 

"Fuck the company!" Jökul growled, and Jack finally got his feet moving. 

The door closed on Pitch saying something about manners. "Oh shit. Did I really just see that?" he asked himself, wandering down a hall and eventually finding himself in the kitchen. This was not where he wanted to be. "How'd I miss the fucking exit?" How had he ended up in the one cul-de-sac in this part of the lair? He really regretted the directions he had taken when Pitch wandered in behind him. "Why'd you follow me!?" 

"I'm done," Pitch said, in the flattest of flat tones. 

With trepidation, Jack actually turned to look at Pitch. Thank god, he was wearing a bathrobe, but, by chance, Jack's eyes happened to trail down - damn his curiosity - and found a proudly jutting part that didn't match the uniform flatness of the rest of Pitch's front. He didn't even know why he had the urge to point that out, but, " _No you're not!_ " 

"Well, I'm done with Jökul." Pitch shrugged and grabbed the tea pot and emptied it. "Oh look, I'm out of tea." 

"What the fuck?" 

"Every man has his limits," Pitch explained, "and Jökul just reached his - for the moment. I'm unwilling to put up with further dumbassedry." He returned the pot to its usual place, and moved to the freezer. Just as Jökul came in - still naked, making Jack slap his hands over his eyes - he said, "I can take care of this with a fistful of ice..." 

"Pitch, no more sharing! You've reached your quota! Jökul, put on some fucking pants!" Jack yelled, keeping his fingers firmly clasped over his eyes. 

"The hell I will! I'm not done yet!" Jökul's voice was hoarse, more so than it had been in the room, as if he had been yelling all the way down the hall. When Jack dared a glance at them, Jökul was trying to climb Pitch like a tree. 

"Well I am," Pitch said smoothly, shoving Jökul away. 

The sound Jökul made could best be described as pure incredulity. "What's wrong with you? What kind of man stops in the middle of getting a sure thing?" 

Pitch didn't miss a beat. "This one. Get off of me." If he wasn't so horrified, Jack would laugh, because on some level, he agreed with Jökul. 

Instead, as horrified as he was, he whined. "Please go away you two..." And they didn't. They kept arguing, snarkily, as though Jack wasn't even there, until exasperation won over propriety and he shoved at Pitch - still safely ensconced in a bathrobe - and then Jökul - and his hands slipped across naked flesh, much to his continued horror - and shoved at them and shoved at them, until, finally, shoving them right out the kitchen door. 

With them out, he waited for a few minutes, leaning up against the heavy wooden door. It was warm beneath his cheek, much like a good share of the lair, but Jack wasn't so sure he cared. At the moment, he was surrounded by blessed silence, but filled with little starts and stops, trying to make sense of the embarrassment he'd just gone through. "Really?" he whined. "Was that all necessary you guys?" And why did Jökul have to come in here naked anyway? At least Pitch had some common decency. 

Surrounded by silence still, he strained his hearing, and hearing nothing, cracked the door open an inch, thinking that perhaps he would be able to escape. There was... noise... in the hall. Damning himself all the way, he pulled the door open further, only to see exactly what he'd warned himself about, only this time... Roles had been reversed, and Jack slammed the door shut, trying to carve the image of long, slim, gray-hued legs wrapped around an ice pale torso out of his mind by rubbing hard at his eyes. 

"Why did I have to look? Today was _not_ supposed to be educational." 

On the list of things he had so far learned about Pitch, just under "Keeps doll houses" was added, "Has sound-proofed rooms" and, "Is a switch." 

"Oh god," he grunted, internally flailing for a distraction. There was... Pitch had those great big ovens, now didn't he? And while Jack knew that the kitchen was a cul-de-sac, he had never fully explored the depths of it. It turned out, there _was_ an exit of sorts, in the back. It led into a room with doorways leading out, to the side, up and down, which turned out to be utensil storage, several pantries, a root cellar, a wine cellar, a drying room and... just about anything Jack could imagine Pitch needing, plus... well, settings for several dozen. What did one guy, who had all of four or five - maybe - regular visitors, need with all this? Also, he had insane amounts of chocolate. Seriously. Wow. That was a lot of chocolate. 

If Jack was going to be trapped in the kitchen, he was going to find a way to use all that chocolate. 

* * *

Hours later, he sneaked past the slumbering pair, determinedly not looking down at them, because Pitch's bathrobe was on the floor next to the kitchen door, and Jack wasn't even going to go there. Today was the day for denial, and Jack was good at it. 

He may have left the kitchen door open, because not long after he left, Jökul twitched, blinking bleary eyes, and sniffing at the air declared, "Something smells really good." 

"It probably isn't you," Pitch muttered, stroking a hand up Jökul's sweaty back. "Nor me." 

Jökul chuckled, and rubbed his cheek, catlike, against Pitch's chest. Even if he felt like he was melting, dribbling into a puddle of goo, he didn't want to move away from the furnace of his lover's body. Except, his nose twitched, whatever that smell was, it was heavenly enough to distract him from the fact that he was melting. He really did want to stay right where he was, but that smell... 

He could pinpoint the exact moment that Pitch noticed it too. "I smell chocolate," he said, sitting up and rudely dislodging Jökul from his previous position. 

"The hell," Jökul grunted, even as Pitch somehow rolled to his feet. He didn't leave Jökul on the floor, either. He dragged him up alongside of him, and they made their discombobulated way to the kitchen. 

It was like entering Hell's bakery. Not in such a way as to say that anything looked bad, or dangerous, but that there were decadent looking sweets _everywhere_. What it looked like, was the sort of place you'd never want to leave, not until every last piece of sugar dusted fudge and chocolate glazed cheesecake square was gone. Beside Jökul, Pitch made a noise that was rarely heard outside of a porno. 

Jökul had to _work_ to get noises like that out of Pitch, and yet, here he was, moving from treat to treat, looking like he was afraid to touch them, and making those sounds. Sounds like lustful, sexually frustrated want, and Jökul picked up what looked like a cherry cordial, and bit into it. It tasted like heaven, and the noises cut off for a moment. Then Pitch was upon him before he could take a second bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to stop assuming I know what I'm going to write for this next. Sorry.


	30. The Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short discussion with North tells Jack something about the elves that he hadn't known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short. Sorry.

It hadn't occurred to Jack to wonder about the elves. They were kinda dumb, and they were everywhere. They always stuck things in their mouths, too, like small children. He had seen creatures like them, in other places. Brownies, imps, gnomes, gremlins - there was something that they all had in common. They were all just about the size of a human infant, and _mostly_ that's what they looked like. Elderly infants. And he would swear that there were a lot more of them than there had been earlier in the year. 

"I mean, I kinda know where the yeti came from," Jack said, ducking around a banister and hopping over about a dozen elves, "because I had a long talk with Phil about it a while back. But what about the elves? I mean, they're a little... They all look the same to me." There were exceptions, of course. The first ones he saw had been white, but upon further exploration, he could see other colors. In just the group he had nearly tripped over, there were a couple whose skin tone looked Asian, and one whose skin was Indian dark. But they all still looked like babies and old men at the same time. "Yeah, there's stories, but..." he shrugged and started when North's huge hand clasped his shoulder. 

"Ah, let's talk private," said North, shooing the small creatures away. Once they reached his work room and he chased out the lingering elves, he settled down in front of one of his many projects, immediately beginning to work on it. "Is because you're young, no, that you do not know of this. I go out, Christmas Eve, and sometimes I find lingering spirits. Not our kind of spirits, though, Jack. These are... They are just dead. Sometimes I can help, sometimes no. Babies, in particular, have a hard time letting go. Neglect, poor parenting, kills many, every year. Less now. I used to find many, left in the snow." The big man sighed, still focusing on the ice sculpture. "I ask babies if they want to come with me, and eventually, they become elves. They are happy, I think." 

"You just... find them?" Jack asked, kinda disturbed. "Does that mean... Elves are all baby wights?" Wights, like himself, were spirits who had died. He was less a ghost than a zombie, powered by ice and magic and moonlight. He wondered if elves had their original bodies, like he did. It would explain why they were all so tiny. 

"Is a type of wight," North agreed. "Very weak wights." 

For a while after that, Jack was more gentle with the elves. He felt, maybe, a little guilty for freezing them. On the other hand, they usually seemed no worse for the experience. For being so tiny and weak, they were pretty sturdy. Then again, they _were_ wights. 

Perhaps he shouldn't bother being so careful after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But hey, update, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This will be continued as I feel inspiration.
> 
> As always, reviews are appreciated, and often enough, inspirational.
> 
> Come see what's next at [my blog](http://www.asknotbug.tumblr.com). My ask box is always open, and I'm happy to receive anons.


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